


The Sorceress and the Stone Faced Prince

by FrequentlyAskingQuestion5



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adviser Voldemort, Alchemist Severus Snape, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crookshanks is more than a cat, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Gamekeeper Hagrid, Healers Grangers, Hogsmead is a democratic city-state, I'm not listing every character sorry, LGBTQ+ characters bc screw you JKR you coward, Mage Hermione, Multi, Pansexual Blaise Zabini, Prince Draco Malfoy, Royal Malfoys, She owns the original characters and the story, Slytherin is a Kingdom, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Thanks to everyone who reads anon and brings up my reader count, That's Right I have an ending now, The Marauders are knights, The Sacred 28 are a thing, The fandom has claimed the rest, harry potter characters - Freeform, lily and james are alive, medium-slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22055800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrequentlyAskingQuestion5/pseuds/FrequentlyAskingQuestion5
Summary: The city-state of Hogsmead has been a progressive refuge for anyone who has seeked to escape the brutal politics of the feudal kingdoms that surround it. For years it has been tolerated by the three great families of the countries surrounding it; the Lovegoods of Ravenclaw clan, the Ollivanders of West Diagon, and the Malfoys, the descendants of the founder of Slytherin and the keepers of the Sacred 28.However, the peaceful world that the brightest mage of her age has known throughout her childhood disappears when Slytherin takes over Ravenclaw land and West Diagon. Before she knows it, Slytherin has swept in and placed a prince in a throne that was never supposed to be built. What is she to do with a prince who won't leave her alone in the hell he's created?The first chapter can be read as a stand alone short story, rated G. The rest. . . not so G-rated, more like multiple love interest semi-slow burn? She has three love interests, okay?Warning for violence and gore. I promise I'm not trying to make it too dark.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Astoria Greengrass, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Monica Wilkins/Wendell Wilkins, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	1. Curiosity Gave the Cat a Wicked Scar

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm really excited to start this journey with you. I have the first two chapters planned out and we'll see what happens after that. The first chapter is how the Golden Trio became friends and how Harry got his scar. Enjoy! :D

Hermione Granger had always had an insatiable curiosity. Since she'd developed object permanence and the ability to walk quietly, she'd followed her parents to meetings, listening through doors or windows to hear them discuss Hogsmead's business. Whether it was settling a scuttle between farmers, discussing treatments for illnesses, or making trade deals with dignitaries from Slytherin, she adored her parents' and their friends' diplomacy skills and absorbed everything she could. That was until she was found out by the other kids at Hogwarts Castle. She had been able to avoid them for the most part with her light steps and the walls of books she put up around herself in the library, but alas, two other children were just as curious about her as she was about everything else. 

One day when she was eleven, she was eavesdropping on a trade meeting Mr Hagrid, the gamekeeper, Sir James, and her mother were having with the Slytherin dignitaries about selling sand and felt a poke in her back. When she turned around, there was no one behind her. She rubbed the spot, thinking that it must have just been a muscle twitch or something before turning back to the window. Again she felt a poke, this time by the small of her back. It was harder than the first and almost pushed her into the window. She frowned, confused, and peered around the corner once more. She heard quiet giggles from down the hall and decided to see who dared to interrupt her self-studies. She had recently discovered that she was magically gifted and decided to give this gift a try. She reached out with her magic to see if she could sense what she was up against and felt two other magical signatures down the hall. 

She latched onto the closest one with her magic and yanked, sending a red haired boy flying from his hiding spot and into the middle of the hall. She smirked before putting calling out, "Ronald Weasley! What are you doing? Don't you know it's rude to interrupt a lady?" and laughing as he righted himself and brushed off his green and red tunic and tights. She walked over and reached up to his face, brushing some dirt from his nose. 'You missed a spot."

Ronald looked up at her for a moment with doe eyes before shaking them away. "Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop?" he retorted. 

"I'm learning!" she defended, crossing her arms. 

"Sounds boring," he replied, frowning slightly. 

Just as she was thinking of a witty retort, Harry Potter came out of the corner where he and Ron had been crouching in a rush of blue and black fabric. "Hey Hermione," the bespectacled boy greeted, "Ron and I were about to go ride the new Hebridean Black dragon!" 

"Are you stupid?" the brunette said accusingly, rasing an eyebrow, "You could get killed, or worse, grounded." Hermione had been grounded once. She'd spent a whole week in her room without so much as a poem to read. It had been the worse week of her life. She did not want to repeat that experience. 

"Come on,'Mione," Harry begged, Hagrid said it's too young to do much damage."

"And my mom says that we really ought to get you out of the castle more," Ron added. "Ouch!" he cried upon receiving punches from the other children. 

"Well," Hermione said, weighing the pros and cons, "I suppose someone should keep watch and make sure that you two idiots don't die."

"Yes!" Harry cheered, ignoring the fact that he'd just been called an idiot. He jumped forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her along to Hagrid's zoo on the edge of the castle's property. They crept in the back, treading through the edge of he forest to avoid being seen. On the way to the young dragon aviary they bowed at hippogriffs, rescued her hair from prying pixies, and guarded their pockets from nifflers. When they finally arrived at the giant bird cage that belonged to the young dragon Harry and Ron had told her of, the beast was nowhere to be found. Even though the young dragon was nowhere to be found, Hermione could feel the heat rolling off its body. Compared to the light May breeze, the area surrounding its cage was boiling. 

Harry and Ron ran right up the the cage, their boyish eyes wide with excitement. They grinned and giggled, sticking their arms through the bars in hopes of coaxing the dragon out. Hermione stuck behind a bit. She had read of the pointed teeth dragons had at even young ages and did not want to tempt it into taking her arm like she was sure it would the boys. 

"Harry! Ron! Get your hands out of there before you lose them!" she tried to reason with them. The young boys removed their arms form inside the cage, to her relief, but then did something ten times more horrifying. She saw the heatwaves coming off their hands as they used magic to bend back the bars enough for them to fit through. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?" 

"Riding the Hebridean Black dragon!" Ron reminded her, annoyed. "Come on!" He reached his hand through the bars and pulled her in with them. 

"Stop!" she cried, "It's dangerous! What if it's burrowed in the ground? What if it bites us?" She asked the boys as they danced, jumped, and ran around the cage in an effort to draw it out. 

It worked, much to Hermione's horror. A spiked tail shot out of the sand, nearly impaling her. She ducked and crouched by the widened bars. After it came the long black head and neck. Harry sneaked over to the place the body would emerge and grabbed on to the creature's neck when the back lifted his feet off the ground. The dragon had such long spikes on its head that Hermione was scared Harry would impale himself on it if it bucked the wrong way. He laughed as the dragon shook and bucked its back in an effort to shake him off. Ron was pushed over with the force of the leathery black wings as they stretched for takeoff. Harry grabbed the spines he could tightly as the creature took off and spiraled to the top of the cage, flying around in an effort to drop him and maybe injure him enough to make a lunch out of him. 

Hermione followed the flight from the ground, hands ready to either catch him or send a slowing spell. Unfortunately her magical education had not started yet, and as such she was left to impulsive magic. She didn't know what spell she'd cast if Harry were to be in grave danger. 

She didn't have to wonder long. She heard Harry scream as the dragon twisted and dove for the ground. She grabbed Ron from where he was frozen in place on the ground and screamed, "Harry! Let go on three!" The dragon shot closer and closer, whipping Harry around like a pebble in a sling shot. "One!" she yelled. Twenty feet. "Two!" she yelled as she saw the dragon change directions towards her and Ron. "Three!" She yelled when it was at its closest. As luck would have it, the dragon whipped Harry right into hers and Ron's waiting arms. The force with which he was shot sent them all flying into the bars of the cage near where they had melted. Her head hit the metal bars hard, stunning for a moment. She fell back as someone grabbed her arms and dragged her towards the hole. She saw the hundreds of dragon teeth approach her as it dived down at her. Ron whipped her through the bars just as the dragon's jaw sliced through the ground where she had been. Ron quickly moved the bars back to their original position as the dragon stalked them angrily from within its cage. 

"Hermione," she heard Ron say through her ringing ears, "Hermione! Your parents are healers, right?" Ron asked. 

Hermione nodded dizzily in response.

"Good," he said before gesturing to Harry who was bent over on the ground, moaning. "Harry's hurt. Do you know anything that could help him?" 

Hermione took a closer look at the boy on the ground. The sand below him was red with his blood. Hermione resisted the urge to shake her head to clear it of the ringing and pain as she crawled towards Harry. "Look up, Harry," she instructed. Harry followed her demand. His face was all bloody. Hermione gasped. His wasn't the most blood she'd seen, but it was still shocking to see a young boy with such a bloody face. "Where does it hurt, Harry?" 

Harry gestured to his forehead. Hermione gingerly moved his bangs from his brow. The blood came up from the right side. She saw the shine of glass but not much else. This wouldn't do. She made to get up to pull him up, but was caught by a dizzy spell. She sat back down and put her head between her legs as her head pounded and the world seemed to spin. "Ron. Find a clean bucket and get some water for me." 

"On it," Ron said, running off. 

He returned a few minutes later with a small bucket filled with water. "This enough? It's from the well." The bucket sloshed as he put it down beside her. 

"Perfect," Hermione said, moving slowly so as to not restart the dizziness that had faded during his absence. "Pour some water over my hands," she instructed, rolling up the sleeves of her purple dress. Ron did as she asked and stepped to the side, waiting for further instruction. "Lean your head back, Harry," she ordered, cupping water in her hands and pouring water over the wound until his forehead was cleaner. Blood continued to trickle from the cut, but slower than before. 

"That's gonna be a bloody wicked scar, mate," Ron gasped. 

Harry flashed a smile that quickly turned into a grimace as the skin stretched around the wound.

"Stop moving your face!" Hermione said, splashing him with water to clean the cut again and to punish him for causing the cut to bleed again. 

"Where are your glasses, Harry?" Ron finally noticed. 

"Currently one lens is broken and lodged in his forehead," Hermione growled. "I don't suppose you have any tweezers?" 

"'Ere you go," a gruff voice said behind her. 

"Hagrid!" she cried out. 'We . . . We . . ."

"I know what yous was up to," he smiled, pressing the tweezers into her hand. "Always got these on hand 'case som'un gets pricked." 

"Thank you," she said, splashing Harry's face once more before going in gently and slowly with the tweezers. More blood gushed out after each piece was removed. "You're being very good, Harry," she complimented the boy who had groaned but hadn't so much as flinched as she removed piece after piece of glass from his forehead. When she could find no more, she splashed him once more before pressing her handkerchief on Harry's forehead. 

"You'd best find yer father now, Miss 'Mione," Hagrid said, helping her and Harry up and pushing Ron under Harry's other shoulder. The three children thanked their half giant friend and went off to Hermione's home to find her father. 

Thankfully and unfortunately her father was unoccupied at the moment. Hermione had been half-hoping that she could stitch Harry up, brush his bangs into a strategic style, and be done with the hole ordeal until the stitches would be removed. Alas, her father was home, unoccupied, and rather amused by hers and her new friends' story. 

"You really flew on the back of a Hebridean Black dragon?" he asked quietly as he removed the handkerchief which was now stuck to Harry's forehead with dried blood. "You're going to be really popular with the girls once this heals up." 

"Ew," Harry grimaced as if that thought were more painful and disgusting than his bloody wound. 

Mr. Granger chuckled as he threaded the needle, tied the not, and began tying and cutting down the zigzagging cut on Harry's forehead. When he was done he gave each child a biscuit. He wrote a short note and flooed it to Harry's mother. "Dear Mrs. Potter. Harry has cut his head whilst attempting impressive dragon-riding heroics, or so I'm told. He is at my place if you'd like to pick him up. Yours truly, Wendell Granger." he read out loud. 

A few moments later, Lily James Potter and Sirius Black came through the door. Lily had a worried frown on her face which contrasted with Sirius' amused grin. "How could you be so stupid, Harry?" she fumed. 

"Ronald Weasley!" Molly Weasley's voice echoed Lily's worried fury from outside. Sirius' expression quickly sobered. She too burst in, red with anger. "Why is it always you two when things go sideways? Oh hello, Lily, dear." Molly's demeanor changed completely when she saw Hogsmead's community organizer mirroring her posture. 

"Hello, Molly. Looks like they're at it again," she chuckled. "What can we do with these two fools?" 

"Grounding them has never made a difference. Cutting dessert simply made them craftier. They're worse than Fred and George, I tell you," Molly agreed. 

"I think they've learned their lesson today," Hermione's father cut in. Lily stormed forward and tilted Harry's chin so that she could get a better look at his forehead. 

"I suppose you're right, Wendell," Lily admitted. "Thank you for fixing him up." 

"Oh, I did nothing but stitch him up. My 'Mione here cleaned the wound right up and removed all of the glass," he said proudly. 

"And Ron got us out of the cage," Hermione added modestly. 

Molly and Lily shared a look. "Maybe you boys should keep this one around," Molly said, smiling sweetly at Hermione before taking Ron's hand and leaving the Granger residence and clinic. 

And they did.


	2. Mind if I . . . Slytherin? Yes. Yes we really do!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit! Slytherin's here to ruin a perfectly good medieval democracy. What ever will the people of Hogsmead do? Good luck, Draco! (NOT!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to the action! Some back story . . . some bad news. A short chapter before shit gets real.   
> Magic works a little differently in this universe. Wands are not needed for every incantation, mostly magic such as charms, where it needs to be more precisely directed.   
> And yes, let's Latin it up and make some spells, Google Translator!

Hermione had waited years for this moment. Nine years and three months to be exact. She had worked so hard to have three disciplines under her belt, reading countless nights until the wee hours of the morning and setting up courses and opportunities to practice her magic. Hermione Granger had done three apprenticeships, one more than the required two that Harry, Ron, and the other apprentices had done. Of course, she hadn't done this only for pride. She had simply been so taken by the three disciplines she had followed that she couldn't just master one branch of magic. 

Here she was now, on her naming day, master of charms, evocation, and healing. She was eternally grateful to her mentors, Mr. Flitwick, Madam Mcgonagall, and Madam Pomfrey. They had taught her with discipline and expectations that had matched her ambition. She knelt on the stairs at the front of the great hall of Hogwarts, facing Lily, who was making her naming speech in front of the elders and the members of the community. Her mentors stood off to the side, Flitwick bearing a wide grin beside Mcgonagall and Pomfrey who were attempting to hid their smiles in their naturally stern expressions. Harry, his parents, and the Weasleys stood opposite them, waiting to bow and say her title once it was given. 

Hermione had pondered what her title would be. Ron had said that she'd be called Granger the Swot. Harry had thought more Granger the Inquisitive. The double edge of "Inquisitive" had not been lost on the young woman who had often pried into her friends' business to keep them out of trouble. Alas, she didn't know if there was any word that could wrap her up completely. Books and learning were her life, yes, but she was so much more than a bookworm. 

She tuned back in to the speech that Lily Potter was giving, not wanting to lose a moment of her naming day to her overactive mind. 

". . . so we congratulate you, Hermione Jean Granger on your perseverance and inquisitiveness. We are fortunate to have a mage who can help all of us in need. The elders of Hogsmead had conversed with your mentors, family and friends and have decided to name you, Hermione Granger, the Adapted." 

The title struck Hermione as a little odd. It was very plain compared to Mcgonagall the Shrewed, or Lily the Brilliant. She knew that Harry and Ron would tease her to no end for earning this name. Still, she couldn't show any ungratefulness towards the elders, so she bowed her head deeper to the elders and heard the roar of her name being shouted by the citizens of Hogsmead who had crammed themselves into the Great Hall for the occasion (probably more for the delicious meal that had yet to be served). Well, at least it wasn't as bad as Filch the Squib. She was grateful that the elders seemed to like her somewhat. 

Hermione rose from her knees and bowed to her mentors, her family members, the elders, and to the people of Hogsmead. Just as she got up, a man came running in the great doors at the end of the room. He was a man from Ravenclaw, she deduced from the blue and read feather sewn into his pointed Tyrolean hat. 

He bowed to Lily and the Elders when he approached the stairs where Hermione stood. She stepped to the side with her family to give the man the floor. 

"I come from from Lord and Lady Patil's land," he projected so that the whole hall could hear. "They just received an order from the former monarchs, the Lovegoods, to surrender to the Slytherins who have taken the capital." 

There was a sharp silence around the room. The whole town of Hogsmead waited in silence for his next words. Trade with the Slytherins had become rocky in the past years. They had started to demand resources used for making weapons and other items too valuable to trade. Five years ago, the Hogsmead military had started welcoming women and girls into their training, encouraging everyone to be ready to defend the freedom their ancestors had made for them. It was part of the reason Hermione had become interested in Evocation. The ability to make a defense or a weapon out of thin air had seemed like a good skill to have should her home come under attack. 

"I've been running for a day and a half, now. I don't know if they've come for my master's land or not, but I assume the worst. I recommend that you guard your borders soundly and stalk up on provisions, if you are thinking of holding out . . ." the man groaned before he slouched over on the ground. Just as Hermione was leaping to see what was wrong with him, he rose in the air, green light burst from his eyes and mouth. She was flown backwards, nearly crashing into her family. Luckily Hermione gained her footing before she hurt anyone.

"Peasants of Hogsmead, this is King Lucius Malfoy speaking." Came a voice from within the green-lit man. "I have sent my men to claim what is rightfully mine. Just like I have taken the Ravenclaw lands and West Diagon from unholy rulers, I will have you on your knees. As I speak, thousands of my men are surrounding your city. You stand no chance if you choose to fight them. Whether they choose to take prisoners or not is up to them. I have enough people in my country to repopulate Hogsmead a hundred times over. Surrender now, or become a blip in history." 

A room full of proud, brave people looked at the glowing man-turned-vessel in horror. Children cowered behind their parents as they listened to the booming, aristocratic voice. 

"No," said Muriel Weasley, a member of the Hogsmead elders. "I'll not see my precious town bend the knee to some coward who sends a military to do his work."

"I agree," said Albus Dumbledore, the flamboyant old bachelor. "You may have the numbers, but we have hundreds of magicians powerful enough to keep your men at bay for months. You shall not pass." 

The rest of the elders voiced their unanimous agreement. 

"Very well," boomed the light coming from the Ravenclaw man. "I'll see that those of you who survive never forget the decision you've made tonight." Everyone in the hall sat silently as the voice echoed out and the light emanating from the man flicked out and he fell to the stone floor. 

When the dark magic finally released him, he was burnt to a crisp on the inside. His sockets held no eyes and bled no blood. His teeth were charred black, there was no sign of a tongue. The smell coming off of him with the green smoke had a horrible scent to it. There was something very wrong in the scent of burnt flesh. 

"That twisted Malfoy," Mcgonagall said at her side, looking over the body. "Portare in morgue," she whispered. The burnt-out body disappeared, but the weight of his death and the words said by his murderer remained like the heavy fog sitting in the ceiling of the Great Hall.

"Well," Dumbledore rose and conjured the feast prepared for her naming day onto the tables. "We can't protect our lands on an empty stomach. The threat is dire and real, my friends, but we are stronger than any kingdom. We are a community. Let his words light a flame in your hearts, let his numbers bring out our creativity and cleverness. We will not be frightened or bullied into submission. We are Hogsmead. As long as we remain, nothing can break us. So let us break bread tonight, and steel ourselves for the struggle to come. Make no mistake, my friends, Hogsmead will. Not. Fall." 

Hundreds of goblets raised, a cheer sounded and five thousand Hogsmeadians dug in, appetite returned. 

Hermione's hunger had not returned like Ron's had. She hated the part of herself that was upset that her naming feast had been spoiled by such a threat. Still, as Dumbledore had said, she did need to be well fed to be at full capacity for the battle to come. She shoveled a mix of roasted peas, carrots, and onions and mashed potatoes onto her plate and sliced some roasted beef onto her plate before near drowning it in thick, savory gravy. Her father rubbed her back for a few moments to comfort her. She gave him a grateful nod before digging in. 

After the banquet was over, she, Harry, and Ron went to the library to look at battle spells that could help them. Harry and Ron had always been enthusiastic about Defense Against the Dark Arts and had made the decision to become part of the Guard for it. While Hermione did not share their impulsiveness and passion for violence, she agreed that it would be useful to add battle spells to her repertoire. She could only conjure so many missiles before the enemy got too close to fire, after all. They wrote down the techniques and practiced the movements and eventually crashed on the old couches. Madam Pince let them stay the night. She'd be needing Hermione in the morning. 

The next day they went their separate ways. Harry and Ron went to the fields to practice the offensive and defensive spells, attacks, and positions with the rest of the guard. Hermione could see them training in the distance when she passed windows on the way to the Room of Requirement. She helped Madam Pince search for any tome that referenced it. When all of the tomes had been found and placed in the room where all of the children and those unfit for battle would be held, she started placing wards around the Room of Requirement and the nearest halls, such as Disillusionment and force fields. No one with ill intent would be able to pass while she and the other ward-setters stood. They set up a sleeping schedule so that someone would always be awake to hold the wards. 

The days they spent prepping for the war were wrought with sleeplessness. They seemed to stretch on and slip by simultaneously. When the first of the Slytherin men were seen on the Eastern horizon, Hermione was sure that everyone else felt exactly as over and ill prepared and sick to her stomach as she did.


	3. The Battle of Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! There it is! The Battle of Hogwarts. This chapter will be from Ginny's perspective, since you guys probably want to have a bit of the war. Hermione will be holed up, protecting the children and those unfit for battle, so she'll get the aftermath.  
> I suggest you listen to any Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack as you read this.  
> One last chapter tonight, maybe two, since it's New Years.  
> Enjoy! :)

Ginny's POV:  
The morning the Slytherin army crested the hills of the Hogsmead territory, Ginny was eating breakfast with her family. Mum had been making beautiful breakfasts these past stressful days. That day was no different. Molly had cooked beans, bacon, sausages, toast, and tarts for her many children. Even Bill and Fleur had come home for breakfast, almost like they had known that today would be the day. Even Fred and George had become tired from making their Wizard Wheezes night and day and planting them around the city. They had had to plant flags where each fire work, trap hole, wasps' nest, and potion shot had been placed. Even they couldn't keep track of how many traps they had set. Ron had been training just as hard as she had these past few days, memorizing form after form, spell after spell, and placing their arms in neat piles they could access during the fight. Most importantly, they had placed a ring of Fiend Fyre around the village, set to be lit when the Slytherin army drew near enough to be scorched. Dumbledore would control the flame from within the castle and make sure that it was put out at his command. Arther and Percy had joined the ward setters, creating an invisible barrier around the far stretches of the city, protecting it from all sides. Finally, Charlie, of course could be found with Hagrid most hours of the day. Their dragons, nifflers, thunderbirds and hundreds of other beasts were being put to use or kept out of danger. He'd had to remind an 'Heartless' Percy that "without bowtruckles there would be no crops", or something of the sort. Magical creatures had never been Ginny's strong suit. 

Halfway through breakfast a conch shell sounded, alerting the city to the army's arrival. Everyone stopped eating and immediately started preparing to take their places. Ginny put on her armor and attempted to braid her hair with her shaking fingers. Unfortunately not a single strand would stay in place with her fingers trembling as they were. She saw her Mum come behind her in the mirror and put comforting hands on her shoulders before she took her hair and braided it as she had done when Ginny was a child. She slowly, comfortingly took strand after strand and weaved it into a tight braid down the center of her head. She reached for the pretty bows she had used nearly two decades ago, her hand faltering before reaching for the brown band Ginny had taken to using. When she had finished braiding each red strand, she bent down and kissed her daughter's cheek before pulling her up into a hug. Ginny kissed her Mum's cheeks before running out to the fields with Ron. 

She found her glaive sticking in the ground where she'd left it last night. She planted her foot near the blade and pulled it out, swining and twirling it around, the silver ribbon on the end mirroring the swing of the long, pointed blade. 

"Woah," Seamus said as he and Dean approached. "Watch where you swing that thing." 

"Please Shay," Dean said, picking up his two saber holsters and strapping them to the back of his armor. "If any of us knows what we're doing, it's Ginny." 

"Thanks, Dean, I wouldn't want to be on the business end of your swords either," she replied. 

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're both bad asses because you can perform close combat," Seamus drawled sarcastically, checking the tension of his bow. 

This was the defensive position general Moody had decided on. Groups of two short hand combatants and a bowman every hundred feet. They were dispersed enough to cover the whole perimeter, but far enough to keep themselves from becoming easy targets. The slytherin army spanned their entire horizon, a long silver mass waiting to charge them. 

"How many d'you reckon they've got?" Ginny asked. 

"The King said ten thousand," Dean confirmed. 

"We're really going to need Dumbledore's Fiend Fyre to cut through the masses, or we're dead," Seamus agreed. 

"Maybe after this all ends, you could apprentice under him?" Ginny suggested. 

"As if," Seamus laughed, "I'm much too flammable myself." 

The three soon-to-be warriors laughed off their nervous energy. None of them had seen a war, and as such did not know how smoke would cover the sky, turning night into day and the air in between brown with blood, fire and smoke. Their eyes were unprepared for the sights they would soon behold. They were so filled with naive hope that Hogsmead would hold, that Dumbledore would save them all. 

They snapped back into attention when they heard the cries of the Slytherin army rushing the perimeter. They met the force field, pounding on it and screaming taunts and threats. Ginny wished she could see the fear in their eyes as Dumbledore conjured the Fiend Fyre that soon engulfed the front rows and spread around the perimeter. The screams of agony hit Ginny's ears, causing her to flinch. They would scar her brain for the rest of her life. They were guttural, utterly inhumane. She winced as the scream continued. The thousands of soldiers lucky enough to take up the rows closer to the back ran back, hoping to run out of reach of the Fyre. Ginny knew that if Dumbledore hadn't been keeping the fire under control, that it would have followed them up the hill and to their commanders, burning them to a crisp. The wind turned on the city of Hogsmead, blowing the smell of burning flesh right into the young soldiers' faces. Ginny gasped and pinched her nose. Dean groaned and puked to her right. If Dean Thomas was so effected by the stench, she didn't even want to think about how Seamus was reacting. The fire reared up against the force field, trying to burn its way through to the city, but the dozens, if not hundred of wards that they'd placed held fast. 

Just as the first wave of soldiers had been turned to ash, a sliver of fire was snuffed. The flames on each end reared up, trying to meet in the middle again. As these flames grew higher, the gap grew wider and wider, slowly snuffing the hopes of the soldiers with the cursed flames. Despite the heat, Ginny started to shiver. This was not Dumbledore's doing. 

"I thought only the caster could control Fiend Fyre," Dean breathed. 

"Me too," the other two gasped back. 

As the flames retreated out of their line of view, explosions started to hit the force fields. Flaming arrow after arrow and flaming cannonball after cannonball flew through the air and berated the shield. Ginny felt the impact in her chest and under her feet as the ground shook. 

"Do you think they'll . . . hold?" Seamus asked as the telltale red lines of a barrier breaking appeared. 

As Ginny and Dean struggled to answer, the sky above them became a dome of shattered red glass. Smoke from the fire poured in from the cracks at the sides as the sky opened up to the war. Hundreds of silver soldiers charged, stampeding their charred and dying comrades. Seamus lit his torch and started knocking arrows and sending them flying towards the charging mass. He incapacitated and killed quite a few soldiers before they got too close. Their deaths didn't seem real until they were close enough for Ginny to make out faces. At this point, She and Dean got into their ready positions. Ginny charged her glaive with electricity and sent it flying towards the soldiers. The bots hit a few soldiers in the chests and spread it throughout the front line. Dean channeled the wind with his sabers and sent several soldiers flying back to arrow range. The three continued this strategy for several waves before they were magically drained. 

Ginny roared and ran into the fray, twisting and spinning her blade around her, chopping off limbs and shredding armor apart. She saw swords stab at her feet and pushed her glaive to the ground, lifting herself up to run on the breastplates of the men than surrounded her. She faltered for a moment, meeting the eyes of a man whose throat she had just slashed. She couldn't think of these monsters as men. They were Slytherins, heartless, selfish war machines who only knew how to consume. If they prevailed, her childhood home, her way of life would be dead. She landed on the ground in a split and spun the blade around, removing the nearest soldiers of their knees and everything below. Now that she had some space, she could see the world around her. 

Time seemed to slow. To her right she saw flashes of Dean's silver sabers and streams of blood flying in every direction. To her right, Seamus had taken up his club and was beating the shit out of the men who tried to surround him, breaking bones and caving in skulls left right and center. Beyond that, there were Slytherin soldiers all around. They were like a sea that she was treading in, coming in short waves to fill her mouth and slowly drown her. 

She felt a sting in her arm. One of the bastards had dared to cut her arm! Well, at least it hadn't been her dominant hand. She roared and dispatched him of his left eye. He wailed and swung back, only to be impaled by his next comrade's sword. 

'Why the fuck do they make such flimsy armor?' she thought as she again stabbed straight through what she thought was steel. Again she lashed out and whipped the spear around to slice the throats of the men nearest to her. There was starting to be a sizable pile around her. She tried not to breathe in too much smoke and attempted the coppery smell of blood and the stench of shit that had started to tease her sinuses. She looked around again and found that she had lost Seamus. It appeared as though he was burring in a pile of men, dead and alive. The men who stood around where he had been fighting had their swords all pointed to the center. 'Do they want us alive after all?' she wondered. 

She saw a women riding towards her and her friends on an elegant skeletal Thestral. Ginny had never been able to see a Thestral before, but had been told that she'd know the sight anywhere. She looked at Ginny with cruel, gleeful eyes, capturing GInny's attention enough to disarm her. Ginny felt cold all over again, spine tingling with the need to get away from this woman. The woman grinned as Ginny felt her glaive yanked our of her hands. Her left shin was kicked out from under her. 

The woman came over to her, staring down the bridge of her nose, through her wild curls. "Ginny Weasley, I assume?" 

"Ye. . . Yes," she answered. 

"Perfect." The lady's impossibly wide grin deepened. "You're coming with me. I need you to take me to your dear old mum." 

Ginny thrashed as she was dragged towards the castle. 

The woman paused, looking back to the rest of the sea of soldiers. "You know where to take the other magic users. Dispose of the rest." 

Ginny screamed and turned back to see the men surrounding Seamus and Dean put away their swords and drag the men away. 

"Come on, Weasley, we have peasants to smear," the woman laughed. 

Ginny was lead through the battlefield. Fire, electricity, and magic light up the smoky terrain in flashes. Ginny couldn't see much until she got to the castle itself. Even then, she could only see the great doors clearly when she was pushed partially through the wards. 

Just as she thought she'd be free to run into the castle, a hand with tight nails gripped her wrist, pulling her back painfully. "Let me in," the mad lady's voice growled, "or I will kill all of your friends. Slowly." She yanked Ginny's arm and brought her head out of the ward and inches from her Swiss Cheese grin. 

Panicked, Ginny did as she was told. "Thank you, dear," the woman said, dragging her through the castle doors. Her voice echoed as she informed her that "The rest of us will be along shortly once they're through the mess you've made."

The woman pulled her around the castle, calling out the names of the more famous mages that inhabited Hogsmead. At a certain point, she even came to threaten Ginny's life, pulling out a blade and everything. 

Ginny wanted to fight, honestly. Her muscles were twitching, but her mind and spine were frozen from fear of this mad woman. She was far more malicious and dangerous than the whole Slytherin army she had faced. It suddenly dawned on her: The weak armor, the dead eyes, the lack of panic at the Fiend Fyre attack. Those men had been sent to the slaughter to tire her and her neighbors out. The real danger was riding in as this woman pulled her along, trying to get her to lead her to her mother. 

Fortunately, Ginny had no idea where the safe room for the children and those incapable of fighting was. It must have been by pure chance, or by divine intervention that the woman chose the silent, unremarkable hallway to decide that she'd had enough of dragging Ginny around. 

"Go one, girl," the woman growled again, pushing Ginny onto her knees and pulling her braid tight. "Call for your dear mumsy." She yelled, frustrated. She brought her knife to Ginny's throat and started mimicking slicing her throat like she was playing one of those heavy bases she'd seen people play. 

"Mu- Mum!" Ginny cried in a hoarse whisper. 

"Louder, dear! I don't think she can hear you." 

"Mum!" Ginny cried, tears running from her eyes. She didn't want to die. Like this morning, she returned to the little girl she had been. She felt like she had when she had gotten lost in the woods by the Burrow at the edge of Hogsmead. "Mum!" she cried again, choking on the sobs she struggled to stop. She didn't want her mum to reveal the safe room because of her. She wanted to tell her that it was okay, that she should ignore her cries. "Mum!" 

"That's it! Cry! Cry for your mommy. You're so afraid, aren't you, little Ginny? Not the lioness you've been told you are. Look," the woman drew the knife past her throat and nicked her. "You bleed like everyone else. You're no better than a filthy muggle, no aren't you?" The woman brushed her finger up the wet trail of blood the cut had left on her throat and brought it to her mouth. Ginny could hear the squeak as the woman sucked on her finger. 

"Not my dotty you bitch!" Molly Weasley jumped out of the wall in front of where Ginny knelt. "Stupify!" she roared, thrusting her wand forward. 

The woman who had been holding Ginny gasped and shot backwards, taking Ginny with her, grip on her braid unfaltering, even in death. 

"Mum!" Ginny cried, prying her hair from the dead woman's hand and leaping into her mother's arms. 

"Come here, dear, it's alright. . ." Molly cooed, pulling Ginny through the wall and into the Room of Requirement.


	4. Meeting with a Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Oh Oh Boy! It's happening! How will I write Draco's character? Let's find out.   
> Dislodge your fingernails from the nearest wooden object. It's going to be okay (I think?).  
> I started writing a chapter last night, but it felt wrong. I hope it's worth the wait.   
> Enjoy! :)

Hermione was restless. For hours they heard nothing of the battle. There had been no messages flooed in, no one popping in to check on them or to tell them that there were peace talks of any sort. The silence was dead until a faint cry could be heard from outside the large doors. 

"Mum!" 

Hermione's ears pricked. She, Molly, and some of the other adults drifted closer to the doors while the others shushed the children. 

"Mum!" There it was again. Unmistakably Ginny Weasley. Molly grabbed Hermione's hands tightly, trembling, unsure of what to do. 

"Mum!" 

A moment and a whimper later and a louder, crazed voice could be heard telling Ginny that she was nothing, trying to shake her core, break her. 

Molly broke from the women holding her and flung open the door, roaring and furious. "Not my dotty you bitch!" she yelled. 

Through the door, Hermione saw the frozen smile on the shocked woman's face. Hermione had been told many a time by pig-nosed women to tidy up her hair in the past. Several of these women were here in this very chamber. If they had the view she'd had, they would never ask her to do any more than keep washing and moisturizing her curls. The woman had black hair, tangled like a million tarantula's limbs. Her eyes were beaded and black, contrasting starkly with her sickly pale skin. She gave one last crazed laugh before lifting her blade to Ginny's bleeding throat before she was hit in the heart by the strongest "Stupify" Hermione had ever heard. 

Molly Weasley ran to collect her sobbing daughter, wrapping her in her arms and cooing comfortingly as she pulled Ginny into the Room of Requirement. 

The whole room was shaken awake from their shocked state when the doors slammed shut once again. Several of the women discussed pulling the body in. Surely the enemy would suspect that the hideout was close to where the body was. No one questioned if she was still alive. No one got out of the wrath of Molly Weasley unscathed. The matriarch was a force to be reckoned with any day, let alone when her children were in danger. 

It took a few minutes, but finally they decided that they would drag the body in. Just as the door squeaked open slightly, footsteps could be heard coming from a distant hall. There were taunting, playfully threatening shouts in decidedly unfamiliar voices in the distant. Hermione stood by the door, going through the list of defensive spells she had been memorizing the past few nights. She reached out with her magic to check for any other magical traces or beings. The dead woman's was faint, leaving this world. There was another. Unlike the usual cloud of magic she usually felt from others, this person's magical print was like a wave of water. It was so thick and powerful that she immediately dropped the scan and tried to conceal her magic, afraid that they could trace her despite the wards. 

Hermione pressed her ear to the door and closed her eyes, focusing her senses to hear ears. She heard slow, deliberate footsteps nearing the invisible door. When the user spoke, it sounded like he was speaking directly in her ear. 

"Come out, little mage. I know you're here somewhere. You, the children and your friends all holed up in your Room of Requirement." His voice was even, calm, dangerous. He knew he'd won. He had all the time in the world, but half the patience. 

Hermione stood frozen, transfixed by that voice. She flinched, though, when she heard his nails trail along the wall. How did he know about the Room of Requirement? Her heart beat loudly despite her efforts to calm down. Her spine raked with shivers as she heard him pace around the hall, going no more than fifteen feet either way. He'd really honed in on their position. Hermione wondered what poor soul had been unfortunate enough to have the position dragged out of their mind. Ligilimens was no joking matter. Mcgonagall had been strict and relentless when she'd taught Hermione how to defend against it. 

"Unlike my father the threats my father must have told you, I do take prisoners," his voice seemed to speak to her directly through the wall. "You can join your friends, the ones pushed to the front lines, in the Great Hall. You've all fought hard, but I think you all know that me being here signs the end of the battle. You lost the battle and as such you've lost the war. Surrender. No one else needs to die."

Hermione gestured for everyone to go back further and find the vanishing cabinet. Severus Snape, the cold but reliable alchemist, nodded, leading the line of people away. She heard it click shut several times. She'd have to hold the line until all three hundred people were able to go through. She wondered briefly if anyone had considered staying behind and fighting with her. She knew she shouldn't wonder. She had just graduated master of three magical schools. They probably figured that she could take care of herself. 

"I see that you've met my aunt Bella. Looks like she did a number on one of you," he laughed, changing tactics. "I wonder where the trail of blood leaves." 

Hermione's heart stopped for a moment. She was getting dizzy from his changing directions so quickly. This also meant that he'd known their position for a while. She wondered why he hadn't ordered his men to start pounding along the walls yet. 

The man whispered something unintelligible before the air in front of the door seemed to shatter. Since the others had left, only her own wards remained. Hermione backed up to the bookshelf she had filled the past few days and hid as the doors shone and the man entered. 

"This room really is quite . . . accommodating," he said, trying to unnerve the innocents he thought the room contained. "I _require _people to work the lands that my father has ordered me to take. I _need _you all to surrender to me before you get hurt, and here, the door swings right open to me. I was hoping that all of Hogsmead was as ferocious as those my men surrounded. I must say, I'm sorely disappointed. Your weak wards were barely even there."____

____Hermione drew her wand and waited for him to come within her view. The man was dressed in shiny, clean steel armor and mail. On his chest was a green and black diamond-backed snake rearing up. It's image moved silently on his armor. He was so pale that Hermione wondered if he'd ever spent a day outside. The light caught his think hair, the palest of blonds she'd ever seen. She wondered if he was a ghost as she raised her wand and yelled the blasting jinx, "Confringo!"_ _ _ _

____The man leaped back to the cover of the hall and laughed. Definitely alive and solid. Hermione moved around towards the center to get a better shot at him. He walked back in, confident as ever, wand raised. Light shone from the tip of the wand and moved left and right, searching._ _ _ _

____"Avis!" Hermione whispered, sending a small flock of sparrows at the prince. He turned to meet them, unafraid of the oncoming birds. As they dove at him, the snake seemed to leap off of his armor, snapped back by the tip of its tail after each catch. It leaped in and out, fangs clenching the birds who let out terrified chirps as they were snatched one after the other from the air surrounding the blond._ _ _ _

____"There's one! Accio wand!" the man shouted, pulling Hermione with her wand._ _ _ _

____"No!" she growled, dragging her feet, grabbing at the piles of lost things she passed with her left hand. She tried to let go, but her stupid instincts glued her hand to the moving object. He caught her by the waist and discarded her wand, throwing it backwards into the hall. Before he could grab her arms or so much as meet her eyes, Hermione pelted him with the back-handed hammer punches Harry, Ron, and Ginny had taught her. They collided with his face several times, drawing blood from his nose, forcing him to release her. She landed one more square in the nose before running into the mess of lost things further back in the endless room._ _ _ _

____She heard him spit and laugh. "There's that fight I'd been hearing about." He walked quickly after her, probably filled with as much adrenaline as her. "Where are all the others, mage? Are they hiding there with you?"_ _ _ _

____Hermione was tickled by the adrenaline in her system. She was almost overwhelmed with the need to laugh and relieve the tension. "Diebus tardus," she whispered, slowing the time around her temporarily. She let out her nervous laughter before scrambling in the other direction. She holed herself in a cabinet before summoning the wind, forming a whirlwind which picked up the lighter objects and flew them around the room. Hermione listened through the wind, ears itching to hear a grunt or any indication that he'd been hit by _anything _.___ _ _ _

______"Looks like we're in the eye of the storm," she heard him say as he drew nearer to the cabinet._ _ _ _ _ _

______'Dear _Merlin _! The eye of the storm! Of course he'd find the _eye _in all this chaos.' Hermione thought, readying herself to burst out of the cabinet. She wanted him to get close enough to hit him._____ _ _ _ _ _

__________Just as Hermione was about to fling open the door, it swung open and revealed the ghostly man, smirking with his bloodied mouth. "Hello, dear." He yanked her out by the left hand, nearly bringing her to the ground._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Hermione lashed out, grabbing the closest thing she could. She grunted and swung an oil lamp at his head. The man blocked it with his other hand, just in time. The four glass sides of the lamp shattered upon impact with is metal and leather gloves and fell to the ground. Hermione wrapped her leg around the man's and pushed in an attempt to knock him down. The man realized this and gripped her arm harder, taking her with him. His armored back crushed the glass underneath with a crunch. Hermione raised her right fist to punch him again, roaring as she did. The man released her left hand to block the punch, giving Hermione an opportunity to grab him and shove his head on the ground._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________This did not seem to faze the man as much as she had hopped. He growled and grabbed her hair, pulling it harshly to the side. She tumbled over, kicking out her legs in an attempt to keep him off of her. She got in a few good kicks, hitting the sweet spot in the armor at his shoulder, hitting underneath the armor at his waist. Eventually, he grabbed one leg and held it firm before pushing the other one aside and pinning her arms down at her side. She squirmed and struggled, growling and screaming. Eventually he got tired of the display and pulled her up before pushing her back down, hitting her head off the ground and stunning her temporarily. He grabbed her arms just above the elbows and held her down._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Hermione and the man breathed hard, matching each other's ragged rhythm. In the sudden calm she became aware of her position. Her long red dress had been pushed up to her hips. If he took off his trousers, he could just. . . like Ron had that one summer night. Something just below her stomach tingled as she thought of that night. The satisfied smirk of the man above her and his strong hands holding her down didn't help. She frowned at herself, wanting to shake her head and shout at herself for the absurdity of these thoughts._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Luckily the man hadn't seemed to notice. She watched him look at her face, tracing the lines of her lips. His dimly hungry look made her feel very uncomfortable. Despite the whole chase that had occurred, it was that look that made her feel like a little prey animal. His icy, piercing blue eyes looked at her like he wanted a taste. She feared for a moment that he'd felt what she'd felt and would actually take a bit out of her. "Who," he panted, "are you?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Hermione Granger, my liege," a familiar voice said in a matter-of-fact tone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Mr. Snape?" Hermione gasped, astonished and scared at what his presence meant._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Snape ignored hermione and spoke to the back of the prince's head. "I've brought three hundred more prisoners to the Great Hall. As. . . _fun _as she looks, I suggest you go and announce your victory to your men and your new subjects," he drawled.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________All of the fight that had been snapped out of Hermione rushed back. She roared and bucked and somehow tore the prince off of her. She pounced at Snape, scratching his face before he could react. Three bloody lines appeared on his cheek as she continued her barrage. "You drate-poking, chicken-hearted poltroon! How dare you betray us? What have you done?" Snape attempted to block her attacks with his arm, but she swung too hard. She heard the prince's laugh from the ground behind her. With a wave of his arm, Snape launched her backwards into the nearest wall. Her back and head collided painfully with the stone walls, spots appearing in her vision. She grimaced, sobbing silently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I suggest you cool your temper if you want to leave this room, Miss Granger," Snape warned._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The prince wiped off his mouth, wincing as his knuckles brushed his broken nose. "That doesn't sound like such a bad idea, actually. Do you know how this room works?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Snape had the decency to look somewhat disgusted at the prince's question. "There are dungeons here already, your highness, and people will wonder where she is. She's quite a prominent member of the community."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Well, you can't be discovered, Severus. What do you suppose we do, _obliviate _her?"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"I have a better idea," Snape grinned maliciously. He started an incantation. Hermione caught the words _Slugulus Eructo _and felt something roll in her stomach. "Go on, Granger," he sneered, "tell me how despicable I am. Tell me how I'm betraying my _community _. I know nothing of loyalty, do I? Go on."_____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Hermione knew the curse he'd laced into the incantation. She couldn't say anything against him without disgusting ramifications._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Imperious. Tell me what I am." He ordered in a low, commanding voice, pointing his wand at her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Hermione struggled, writhed as she tried to hold her tongue. "You're," she ground out, "a traitorous-" she gagged and felt slugs sliding up her throat. Their disgusting slime coated her tongue as they flew out of her mouth and to the feet of the two men._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"Perfect," Draco leered at Hermione. "Men! There are two in here!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Snape hid his wand away, releasing Hermione from the wall. She fell on her hands and knees, head hanging low with nausea. Two guards lifted her up and dragged her to the Great Hall._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron did not sexually assault Hermione, just to clear that up. They coupled, but decided that they were not physically compatible for whatever reason (That's their business).


	5. The Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Feb 20 2021, I have made Voldemort do it. In the original, it was Draco, but his having done it makes him too heinous to be considered a love interest, even for an enemies to lovers fic. In the series too, Draco is not a killer, as far as I am aware, so I should reflect that better in this work. 
> 
> Note that this is the first chapter I am correcting, so please be patient with incoherencies later on, please excuse me if I forget any, or do not correct them, I am only a fanfic writer. (Let's be real, I might just continue writing as if this was the original version). I guess, for all intents and purposes, Draco did kill Ron, at least in Hermione's POV.

Hermione was lead after Snape and the prince to the Great Hall. Once they'd cleared the Grand Staircase, the nausea passed. Hermione walked the rest of the way with as much dignity as she could muster. She passed a couple bodies as they neared the front of the castle. They were mostly anonymous Slytherin soldiers, but she recognized a few faces, such as Lavender Brown, the young lady Ron had been courting as of late. It had really seemed like the opposite. She was so endearing and honest about her feelings towards him. She had showered him with gifts of mittens, poems, and, of course, black pudding. He'd always said in private that it was better than his Mum's. She thought back to the breezy spring and summer days they'd spent in the gardens walking or lounging about. They'd been so happy, so in love. Lavender had finished her studies to become a historical transcriber the last year. Hermione felt that it was a great loss not to have this battle chronicled by her detailed and fair descriptions. 

When she got to the great hall, she noticed some faces were missing, namely James Potter, one of the main battle strategists, and Albus Dumbledore. She was relieved to see that Madam Mcgonagall was sitting on a bench looking quite displeased. She stood ramrod straight and proud despite her ash-stricken face and wispy, loose bun. Her mouth twitched when she saw Hermione being dragged in. The men pushed her onto the second bench to the left, beside Seamus and Dean. They both looked worried at the blood on her dress. She shook her head to motion that it was not hers. 

Much to Hermione's disgust, Snape was dropped off beside Lily Potter. He took her into his arms and stroked her hair, eyes showing no regret at her loss. He looked at Hermione and smirked at her before tilting his head down and whispering in her ear. Hermione wondered for a moment what he was saying. 'I'm a conniving traitor", "I'm a double agent and had never been wanted by the Sacred 28", or whatever would be perfect. Hermione waited for Lily to recoil in disgust but was sorely disappointed. She wondered how he had aided the Slytherins. How had he remained indispensable?

"How did they find the Room of Requirement?" Dean asked her. 

The name 'Snape' nearly rolled off her tongue before she felt her stomach roll, so she told the other truth. "A woman found us by accident. She had Ginny and nearly killed her. Molly stepped in but we didn't have time to hide the body. The prince found it and followed the trail of mud and blood to the entrance. I guess they found the other vanishing cabinet as well." Hermione finished, sending a glare in Snape's direction. 

Seamus and Dean shook their heads in disappointment. It was tragic how easily they'd been taken. Four, maybe five hours had been all it had taken to bring the city to its knees. 

"All the men we fought," Dean reported, gesturing to the steel-armored men positioned around the hall, "they're muggle slaves, not soldiers."

"They'd been sent to tire us out," Seamus added. "The real threat was the so-called Sacred 28."

A passing man dark robes with silver and green embroidery at the hems smacked Seamus upside the head as he passed. "Silence, knave," he spat, earning the back of his close-cropped head a death glare from the three Hogsmeadians. 

The prince stood ready at the front of the room as seven people wearing similar robes to the one who had slapped Seamus stood at attention behind him. They stared proudly down their noses at the Hogsmeadians like they were nothing. Hermione wondered what the Slytherian occupation would be like. How would this prince strike fear and obedience in the hearts of her neighbors? 

Draco took a moment to glare authoritatively around the room, silencing the Hogsmeadians who still dared to speak. "My subjects, Albus Dumbledore is dead. Your wards have crumbled, your fiercest warriors forced to bend at the knee. Compared to the centaurs in the forest bordering your little town, you surrendered quite graciously," the prince started. His voice took on an aristocratic tone like his father's. His expression had become stoic and proud, a far cry from the adrenaline-filled man who'd enthusiastically hunted her down in the Room of Requirement. Hermione was shocked that the centaurs had been taken. They were such fierce warriors she assumed that they would have had to avoid them. She wondered how many were left. "I, prince Draco Lucius Malfoy of the Sacred House of Slytherin, am grateful that we were able to preserve as many mage lives as we did. Those of you who keep your heads bowed will be rewarded. I see no point in killing you for your loyalty to your home." 

"What bloody bullocks coming from a man who hides behind a sea of muggles!" Hermione heard Ron shout from the right side of the room. 

"Muggles are made to serve us magic users, _Weasley_ ," he sneered haughtily, "but do go on. I need to make an example out of someone." 

Lavender Brown had been a muggle. Hermione's brilliant parents were both muggles. She hated the way the word dripped off his lips like he were drooling bile. 

Ron stood up and made his way to the dais where the Malfoy heir stood. The seven people behind him moved to stop him, but Draco lifted a hand, stopping them. "You and the rest of your Sacred swots or whatever are nothing but cowards who prey off of anyone who has an ounce of honor. Why don't you fight us without the help of a pathetic fucking army like a real man?" 

If there had not been so much blood spilt, if half of the city were not being locked in cages, then this declaration would have been met with cheers. But the tension Ron had been met with could be cut with a knife. Hermione was terrified for Ron. She knew that even without the muggles that this man and his entourage could take the whole Weasley family combined, though they were each a force to be reckoned with.

Draco walked slowly to Ron, dragging his feet sarcastically. "I don't _think_ that I need to prove anything to you, you Weasley filth, blood traitor." He patted Ron on the shoulder, keeping eye contact with the red faced ginger. 

Ron looked at the hand on his shoulder and grit his teeth. Roaring, he swung his fist at Draco. The whole room sat still as Draco ducked and dodged Ron's punches with ease before knocking him into the arms of two of the Sacred 28. They held him fast as Draco punched him in the stomach. "Is this all you got, muggle lover? You must be tired, fighting all those muggle swine. Did you honestly believe that killing any one of us would make a difference?" he jeered. "As I said, I need to make an example of you." Draco took out his wand and took a couple steps back from where Ron was knelt. "S- S-" Draco took a deep breath. It seemed like he needed to calm his nerves. "Se-" 

"Bloody Hell, boy. If you can't get on with it, I will!" Yelled a bald old man. He trudged his way through the crowd that shadowed the prince and raised his wand. His torn black sleeves billowed like wisps of smoke around him. Deathly pale skin, red snake eyes and a slit nose gave him the appearance of death incarnate. He grinned with eyes full of malice as the hissed, "Serpensortia!"

"Ron!" Hermione screamed, getting up and running to the front of the hall. She heard the rest of the Weasleys do the same, yelling his name and "No!" as muggle guards took hold of them. Hermione struggled against them, watching with horror as the head of a snake slithered out of the man's wand. He lifted the snake up, holding it over Ron's head. Another man grabbed Ron's jaw and wrenched his mouth open. Ron screamed as the snake grew and slithered into his mouth and down his throat. The screams turned into choking and gargling, his green eyes bulging. Hermione hadn't heard such a horrible sound in all her life. She saw blood dripping out from under Ron's armor. The men in black let Ron fall down to the ground, stepping aside as the snake slithered out of Ron's side and back into the man's wand. 

George broke through the wall of soldiers and ran to his brother's side, quickly followed by the rest of his family. Hermione finally broke through and followed them up, Harry coming behind her from wherever he'd been sitting. For the slightest of moments she was relieved he was alive before her attentions snapped back to Ron, who was writhing on the floor. The rest of the world seemed to disappear. "Ron!" They all screamed and cried. Ginny relieved him of his armor, revealing a bloody mess of a tunic. Molly gingerly lifted it up. Underneath was a smoking cavern that used to hold his innards. Hermione gagged and turned to the side to throw up on the stairs. She looked up briefly at the invaders on the dais and saw the prince's face betraying the horror and disgust he felt. Long, dry, bony fingers were latched onto his shoulder. She followed the hand to to the black sleeves and up to his face. It was frightening, the amount of pleasure this man had derived from killing Ron. 

Hermione tore her eyes from the two monsters and back to Ron who was choking on his last breaths. "Mischief managed," he wheezed, meeting George's eyes before his own got cloudy. "Lavender. . ." he whispered with his last breath. 

Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys screamed his name and sobbed over his still body. Hermione wondered if she'd have to get used to the smell of scorched bodies. She dearly hoped she wouldn't, but she feared she might if these mages were as wrathful in peaceful times as they were during wars. 

"Alright, enough of that. Return to your seats, Weasleys," Draco ordered sharply, having snapped out of his horror and back into the role of conqueror. Ron's family and friends looked like they wanted nothing better to do than pummel Draco to death, but Hermione sensed that there was no way they'd make a dent on him in the Great Hall. George and Charlie held each other as they walked back to where they'd been seated. Fleur took Bill's hands once he found his seat. Percy took Ginny's hand and dragged her from the dais. Hermione and Harry made their way back to their respective seats as well. Arthur and Molly had to be dragged from his body.

"So, what exactly happens when you cross us?" jeered one of the dark-clothed Slytherian nobles. His hems had no green or silver embroidery. Hermione deduced that this must mean that he is of lesser status than those with decorated robes. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermioine had already seen the damage up close, but from her seat it was no less jarring. The whole town of Hogsmead, or what was left of it let out a gasp simultaneously as Ron's burnt skin and cavernous center floated up slowly towards their tables. 

"Yes, yes. Quite tasteless of you, Crabbe," Draco said. Crabbe dropped his wand, dropping Ron as well. 

Hermione flinched with the rest of the crowd at the crunch his bones made upon impact. 

"You're all probably wondering what life will be like under my rule. The muggles among you will of course first take on the cleaning of this city. Then they'll either take to the crops, the forest, the mines, or to the battle field. Those of you blessed enough to have been born with magic coursing through your veins will most likely be able to keep your professions and your homes so long as you submit and obey. " 

"What the hell does that mean?" Snape yelled from his seat. Hermione felt rage clench her chest. She felt like jumping up and exploding. The nausea came back, though, keeping her at bay. She'd have to wait until someone made a good batch of treacle fudge to let the news out. 

"Do you all speak in call and response here in Hogsmead? _Salazar's sake_ I can't get a word in with you people!" Draco shot a jinx at Severus, causing him to hold his face and howl. Hermione could see the skin bubble up under his fingers. "What I mean by submit and obey is that you'll obey the commands of your new masters, and submit to our authority. If you don't you'll be stripped of your magic and join the muggles. I know it's going to be rough for you savages, so we've come bearing gifts." 

_Strip mages of their magic? Impossible,_ Hermione thought in horror. She'd never heard of any permanent magic-stripping techniques. 

Crabbe, the thicker dark-robbed man stepped forward, grinning maliciously, and held up a collar. It was dark with silver studs. 

"This will help you adapt to submission," Draco continued. "These collars will block you from using any dark magic or hexes, jinks, or incantations against your new masters. Any dark magic will be met with repercussions. They will also alert the nearest authority of your intent. You there," he said, pointing to Oliver Wood. "You look very angry. Why don't you come up and take a gander?" 

Oliver was dragged, kicking and yelling to to the dais near where Ron's remains laid. Crabbe's thick hand smacked Oliver's cheek before wrapping the collar around his neck and clicking it in place, sealing it with a spell. Hermione guessed that it wasn't a simple _colloportus_. 

"Give the man a wand," Draco ordered. 

Oliver clutched the wand tightly, all glare and righteous menace. He would not need to be imperiused for this. "Stupef-" he got out before red waves emanated from the collar, spreading throughout the body. It looked like. . . but it couldn't be. Had they found a way to contain the Cruciatus curse? Hermione looked on again with the rest of Hogsmead as yet another one of their own was tortured in front of them. 

"Any questions?" The room held its stunned silence. "Good," he said, sitting down at the head table where Dumbledore had once sat.


	6. Draco Malfoy: The Surprisingly Expressive Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Draco just leave Hermione alone? (Doubt it)  
> Time Jump! Would you like some exposition?   
> The muggles have been separated from the mages and now sleep in the fucking dungeons  
> Ron's corps still swings in the Great Hall  
> Everyone's forced to wear collars like dogs.   
> Great times had by all in Hogsmead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used this video series to inform me about medieval eating.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WeVcey0Ng-w

Hermione Granger was not happy with the way the battle had turned out, to say the least. It'd been a month since she'd seen her parents. They were probably sore from working hard all day cleaning up the battle fields and the ruins and sleeping in the dungeon with the other three thousand muggle citizens of Hogsmeade. She'd been tempted a few times to share her heritage so that she would be forced to take to the fields with them, but she could imagine their disappointed faces if she were to follow through. Hogsmeade had become completely different. Most of the town was rarely seen. Those lucky enough to be deemed too attractive for the fields had been made into servants for the prince, the present members of the Sacred 28 and the other Slytherin elites who had joined Draco on his conquest. They had all taken residence at Hogwarts, transferring classrooms and storage towers into luxury suites. 

Besides, being in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, Mr. Fungo Bonham and Hannah Abbot came with its perks. For one, the infirmary had not been moved from its location beside the bath house and salon. Any time one of the healers there found out something juicy or useful, they would conveniently get a nick or cut and have to go to the infirmary later. Secrets were passed around Hogsmeade quietly so as to not alert the monsters who kept them captive. Another perk was that everyone needed to use the infirmary, muggles and mages alike. Hermione had been able to catch tidbits of information on their parents. They’d been put in the corps disposal unit. This worried Hermione since this would undoubtedly expose them to disease carriers such as rats and decomposition fluids. Hermione knew that they would be working as safely as possible, though, and teaching others to do the same. Her father had done his fair share of traveling and research before meeting her mother and settling with her in Hogsmeade, afterall. 

She wished she could send them some help or medical supplies, but medical supplies had been kept under a strict watch. Each healer had to keep a list of the supplies they used each day, writing down everyone’s name, address, condition and treatment precisely. Each evening around dusk Blaise Zabini came along with Seamus and Dean to make sure that everyone had received the appropriate treatment and that no one had hidden supplies anywhere. Madam Pomfrey had been strict about keeping track of medical supplies before the occupation; Hermione would never have dreamed of stealing anything beforehand. Now that there was the added pressure from the Slytherins, the implicit accusation that she and her people were thieves who needed to be shown _their place_ was just downright insulting and made her fingers itch. Dean and Seamus were at least always kind enough to offer apologetic looks when they searched her bags as Lord Zabini went through the leger.

It was coming on autumn. Already Hermione could feel the chill of October weighing her down as she walked home for her midday meal. It had been a slower day today, what with people getting somewhat used with the new order of things. The younger children had been quick to adapt, not yet having grown as prideful as their parents and older neighbors. They bowed to their new masters with ease, just accepting that these black-cloaked people were _more_ and they and their parents were _less_. Hermione found it tragic that they had come to understand this concept so quickly. She and the rest of the mages she passed throughout the day struggled to bow their head. Hermione had learned to fan out her skirts and curtsey, but had been given several warnings to remember to keep her eyes to the ground. She couldn’t fathom such a concept as being too low to meet the eyes of a person she had no grievance against.

These people were not the forgiving type. Many of the servant muggles she'd crossed paths with had bruises, red cheeks, and cuts from not fulfilling orders correctly. She’s had to disinfect the hand of Fredrick Nightlock who’d been caught reading a book and lost a finger for it. Of course he'd be reading! He was the one who'd trained Lavender Brown in the art of historical documentation, for Merlin's sake. Muggles were not allowed to read under Slytherin law. In Hogsmeade they had a saying, _The truth will set you free_. In Slytherin it was _Knowledge is power_. Even bookworm Hermione knew that there was more to the truth, more to life than battle plans, history, and gossip.

She was so caught up in thinking about Mr. Nightlock, so enraged by the reason, that she almost didn’t notice the guards standing by her family home. Fear struck her like lightning. Had they found out about the network of secrets? Did someone suspect her of committing treason or something?

Hermione closed her eyes and evened her breath as she neared the house. She took a moment to gather herbs and peas from her garden to cook with before walking to the front door.

“Hullo,” she greeted the two guards that stood on either side of her door. They bore the symbol of the viper, but unlike the prince’s theirs didn’t slither around on their chests. “Would you two like to come in for something to eat?”

The two guards didn’t acknowledge her presence, so she stepped up to the door, took a deep breath, and entered her home. The first thing she noticed was that many of the candles had been lit. Hermione put them out with a gentle breeze which came out of the tip of her wand, bringing the room to a darker natural afternoon light. She left the ones near the fireplace on and lit the coals with a controlled flame spell. The fire roared up for a moment before settling down and heating the coals. Hermione adjusted the positions of the coal boxes to get three different temperatures. Her stomach growling was followed by a laugh behind her. In her haste to save wax and start the cooking fires she'd forgotten about the guards and her uninvited guest. She turned around quickly and braced herself on the edge of the fireplace upon seeing just who had invited themselves in.

“Hello, Hermione Granger,” the prince greeted.

“Hello, Prince Malfoy,” Hermione curtsied, looking to the side. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her complete submission. “What brings you here?”

“I was hoping for a spot of lunch and a chat, Hogsmeade style” Draco smirked, swirling a cup of ale he'd helped himself to. The Slytherins had taken over the communal water supply and had started to hoard it for their luxurious personal baths. In order to preserve the communal bathhouse everyone had agreed to switch to ale except on holidays. “We had such fun the last time we had time alone together.”

“Taking over a democracy not all it was chalked up to be?” Hermione quipped, forgetting fear of repercussions. She turned around and scooped some chicken stock into her urn-like pot before pouring her garden peas, some ground sage, and thyme leaves into the mix. She stirred it for a moment before putting it on the coolest coal box.

Next, she put a slab of putter in a pan and melted it, heating it until it bubbled, moving it around the pot. She added two fillets of salmon into the pot and turned back around to find the prince observing her.

“I’ve never had peasant food before,” he said in an attempt at vulnerability. It came off as condescending.

“I hope you’ll have the patience to chew it, then. It’s pretty hearty,” Hermione retorted, putting mustard seed into a mortar and pestle and grinding beginning to grind the seeds into a fine powder. She turned over the salmon before continuing. “And it’s not _peasant food_ ,” Hermione continued, “it’s sustenance. This meal'll keep me going till well after dark. Here, smell the bread, see how thick it is.”

She went over to the table and sliced a piece of bread off for him.

“Smells good,” Draco said, putting the bread up to his nose distractedly. "Much browner than I've ever had. Is that beer I smell?" 

“It is. Much healthier than that flowery white bread you all eat up in your castles.” Hermione turned the salmon onto its side and stirred the pea pottage. “Butter up the bread, why don’t you?” she called over her shoulder, using her wand to blow out the coals of the unused stove section. “It’s in the red clay box by the cinnamon sticks.” Her mother had been lucky enough to find a merchant to buy them form a year ago. They’d baked with them near obsessively until only three remained. Her stomach warmed at the memory of spiced wine and cinnamon drizzle cakes.

“I’ve seen these muggles before,” Draco said. Hermione ears seemed to perk up, her chest tightening. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as he asked the seemingly deadly questions. “Don’t tell me you’re directly related to muggles. Are you a half-blood? Are they your aunt and uncle?”

“They’re my parents, your highness,” Hermione confirmed with an edge to her voice. She had always been proud of her heritage. The fear she felt now left a bitter taste. She sighed and flicked her wand, cooling the coal stove boxes. She was sure that the food was ready, but even if it wasn't she didn’t want anything to burn and go to waste.

“The brightest witch of her age, a filthy little _mudblood_?” Draco laughed incredulously.

“Don’t call me that,” she growled, turning back to find him right in front of her.

“I thought that _Granger the Adaptable_ had sounded quite plain, but really, you are very well adapted to your current situation,” Draco jeered, walking forward until she hit the wall beside the fireplace and stoves. She was so temped to reach down and hit him with one of the stones, but knew that if she did any real damage that she would be killed, or worse, stripped of her magic.

“Don’t ruin my lunch, Malfoy. I still have six hours to go after my break.”

“Does that explain the look in your eyes when I held you down in the Room of Requirement? Did you relish the thought of being taken as the mudblood bitch you are?”

Hermione wiped the menacing smirk right off his face with a strong slap. She met Draco’s surprised eyes with her own enraged ones. He rubbed his cheek and mouth as if something curious had come across his mind instead of her hand across his cheek. A beat passed between them before he pressed her harshly against the wall and kissed her roughly. She pounded his arms, shoulders and back and gripped his hair in an attempt to get him off of her. He hissed into her mouth but kept the pressure going. Finally, just as she thought he’d suffocate her with his kiss, he pulled apart from her and smiled down smugly at her.

“Now, how about some lunch?” 

Hermione had lost her appetite. She did _not_ want to eat with this heathen, but she knew her stomach would remind her of this decision later, so she stepped to the side, cut another slice of bread, put a salmon on each slice, covered them with peas and topped the plates with ground mustard seed. When she turned around again, the prince was sitting in her father’s chair, feet propped up on the one she’s always sat in. He gestured for her to take her mother’s seat across from him where she would have to really dig into her food to ignore him.

She set his plate in front of him. He grabbed her wrist as she moved away and pulled her closer, placing a soft kiss on her hand. Hermione’s arm broke out in gooseflesh. Her chest fluttered slightly in what she hopped was disgust. There would have to be something seriously wrong with her if she found a man calling her _mudblood_ attractive. He left of her hand gently, his own lingering in the air sarcastically.

“Thank you, dear,” he said with a smirk.

“Have you come to rape me and play house, then?” She sat down and put on a brave face.

“Slow down, Granger. We may share the same fantasy, but make no mistake, I want to take you when you’re willing.”

She grimaced at the idea that she shared anything with him other than the town they were currently inhabiting. “Why me? There are probably thousands of princesses and noblewomen in Slytherin, Ravenclaw, or West Diagon who would gladly strip for you.”

“You’re not like the women back in Wiltshire, you’ve got spunk.”

“And so has every woman in Hogsmeade. I’m not exactly really one in a million here.”

“Stop fighting me on this, Granger. Just eat your peas before you spoil the mood completely,” he said in a tone that gave no room to misinterpret how done the conversation was. Either way she probably only had twenty or so minutes until she had to head back to the infirmary.

She forced herself to eat the first few bites before her hunger returned and she ate with more vigor. She glanced up at Draco who was holding his knife and fork delicately and looking at her as she lifted the open sandwich to her face and took bite after bite, barely swallowing as Ron had done during his teen years. She could have eaten more delicately, but his act earlier had taken up too much time to eat as her parents had told her she had to in polite company.

“Sorry, I haven’t got time for your delicate manners today,” she said at least.

Draco looked down and continued eating delicately and slowly. Before too long, Hermione had finished her bread, salmon, and peas and moved outside to wash her dishes. First, she scrapped what she could for the pig before taking a handful of sand and scraping the remains of the pea sauce from her plate. When she got back, Draco had finished, so she repeated the process with his plate and utensils. As she reached up to stack the plates on the higher shelf, Draco came up behind her and took them from her, reaching up and placing them on the others with a soft clatter. She felt his hand on her hip, a warm possessive pressure. He was taking up her space, asserting himself in her bubble to show her who had the power in the dynamic. It’d already been obvious enough.

_Stupid men and their need to make a show out of everything and make power dynamics so humiliatingly clear._ She thought, trying to step away from him.

“One last kiss for the road?” he teased, leaning down towards her face. At the last second she turned her head so that his lips made contact with her cheek. “Slowly, then.” He smirked, reaching over to grab his green cloak from where he had draped it over her father’s seat and stepped towards the door. “I’ll summon you to the castle later and we can discuss this further.”

And then he was gone, leaving no time for her to reject him. He _was_ gone though, and she could breathe again. She took a short moment for herself before pulling her own cloak tight around her and heading back to the infirmary.


	7. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes strike again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. It's been two days since I started setting unrealistic updating expectations. I have three days of partial tranquility before the semester of advanced English Lit starts and whatever time I'm not eating or sleeping will be used to read tomes by men who need to get to the freaking point. Just kidding they are the masters of the craft. I bow down to their skill with the quill and descriptive prowess. 
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who's cracked this fic open. Without further ado, another chapter! Enjoy!

As Hermione walked back to the infirmary a black-robed woman passed her. She had short red hair which was slicked back strictly. She was of a more sturdy posture with deep set eyes painted with dark grey powder, making her face appear threatening. Hermione kept walking, not wanting to engage with this one, especially since she had green and silver embroidery on her hems. She didn’t meet those sunken eyes, didn’t glare, and just tried to get on with her commute.

The citizens of Hogsmead had found that ways the non-embroidered and embroidered members of the prince’s entourage displayed their power were quite different. Those without the embroidery were usually more visually cruel; they beat muggles and mages who displeased them or hit them with visually painful jinxes and hexes. They felt the need to show their power and cruelty to make up for their lower status. They acted entitled, but Hermione had read plenty of novels and historical anecdotes about over-compensators. When the time came, she’d just have to find the source of their inferiority complexes and push the right buttons to make them lose control. Those with the embroidery were members of the Sacred 28. Legend said that they had angel’s blood in their veins and had kept their blood undiluted since magic appeared on earth. They walked around with their heads held high, elegantly looking down on the world and its _other_ inhabitants. They had no need to prove their authority, their heritage spoke for itself. If they hadn’t been afraid of losing any more of their dwindling numbers, Hermione was sure that they would have just flown in and taken care of Hogsmeade themselves.

Though Hermione tried her best to avoid the woman, fate had chosen to ignore this decision. Soon after Hermione had passed her she heard a small explosion and a scream. Immediately she turned around, worried for the injured woman who kept steaming and waving her hands around her smoking face full of boils. One of the twins’ jinx bombs. Hermione forced her lips to keep a neutral flat line as she rushed over to the woman.

“Excuse me, I’m a healer. I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Hermione said calmly and invitingly.

“Who did this?” the woman shrieked, following after Hermione furiously.

“It must be left over from the war,” Hermione said, trying to defuse the situation and avoid putting the onus on George.

When they got to the infirmary Madam Pomfrey was away on lunch, leaving Mr. Bonham, Hannah and herself to treat the woman. Hermione gave them a look, trying to tell them to not mention Fred or George, not that they could do any more harm to Fred, of course.

“Please take off your jacket madam. . .” Hermione instructed, asking indirectly for her name.

“Carrow, Alecto Carrow,” she said, panting and grimacing as Mr. Bonham poked and measured the boils on her face. She took off her jacket and handed it to Hannah to hang up.

Hermione answered the question he was about to ask. “She’s been hit by a Furnunculus bomb leftover from the war.”

Both Hannah’s and Mr. Bonham’s faces took on frightened expressions. So far no one had had the misfortune of stepping on these jinxmines. How many more would the Slytherins step on before the Hogsmeadians could no longer use the war as an excuse.

“I’ll prepare a Boil-cure potion right away,” Hermione said, scurrying off to the ingredient’s wall. She collected what she would need for the first few steps before heating a fire up to 250 degrees.

“Unfortunately this will take a good hour, Madam Carrow,” Mr. Bonham said, searching for a burn poultice. He applied some to four bandages which he placed on her face, leaving the mouth and nose uncovered. “Why don’t you take a rest while you wait?” He adjusted the pillows behind her so that she could sit back comfortably.

“I don’t have time for this!” she exclaimed, waving her arms in front of her.

“Is there a message we can send by floo for you?” he suggested.

“I suppose,” she admitted stiffly.

Hermione’s ear perked. Carrow was about to divulge important information. She slowed the snake-fang-crushing strokes of her pestle to hear what the woman said next.

“This is to be sent to the prince,” she started. Hannah came over with a sheet of parchment and a quill, ready to record. “ _My liege, I have just received word that your betrothed, Astoria Greengrass will arrive to keep you company in after the most brutal period of the Hogsmeadian winter. I would have come delivered the news myself, but I have been hit by a hex-bomb supposedly left by the war. I suggest you remedy the situation before anyone else gets hurt. Yours truly, Alecto Carrow._ ”

Hannah nodded as she wrote and reread the message back to her. _Her tone in the last phrase is very forceful for one who writes to royalty_ , thought Hermione. Then again, even when one was such a hierarchy, there were still the dynamics of age and experience to contend with.

Hannah dutifully rolled the parchment and tied it closed before throwing a handful of floo powder into the fire and saying, “Hogwarts Castle” in a clear voice and throwing the letter in.

Excitement over, Hermione finished crushing the snake fangs and put them into the cauldron, heating it for ten seconds at 250, waving her wand, and leaving the fangs to boil.

A few minutes later, another black-robed figure rushed in supporting another.

“Help!” the man supporting the other yelled, “My father’s been hit by something!”

Hermione and Hannah exchanged a look.

By the time Blaise came around with Seamus and Dean a total of four people had come in for dejinxing treatments. Once Madam Pomfrey returned, the treatments had been given a lot quicker. Hermione was starting to suspect that these were more than simple war relics. After she was relieved for the night she went straight to the burrow to confront George.

Of course, she’d have to get through Molly first.

“Hello, Hermione dear!” she greeted enthusiastically with a warm hug.

For a moment Hermione forgot all about her suspicious of George and became lost in the matriarch’s arms. She’d missed her mom’s hugs so much, and Molly had always given the warmest ones. When they parted, Molly took a moment to look Hermione over to check if she was alright before pulling her into the burrow.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been doing well, all things considering,” Hermione answered. “How about you?” She tried to keep her tone from going somber and serious. She didn’t want to remind the matriarch that she’d lost two boys. It’d only been a month, after all. She’d be thinking about them all the time.

“Oh I get by with a little help from Percy’s mint tea,” she said, smiling. “I’m just glad everyone’s kept close.”

She was greeted by an unsuspecting George in the family room.

“Hullo, ‘Mione.”

“George Weasley, please tell me you simply forgot to remove all of the hex bombs and that you haven’t going around placing new ones,” she said through grit teeth.

“I forgot to remove all of the hex bombs and have _not_ been making new ones for Slytherins to step in.” He winked, scratching his neck under the collar tucked away under the collar of his tunic.

Hermione stood silently, mouth gaped open for a moment before Molly stepped in from the kitchen, swinging a spoon at the man.

“George Weasley how dare you?” she yelled, trying to hit him over the table he’d put between them. His grin changed into a playful but nervous one as he dodged his mother's swings. “You could get yourself killed!”

“What if they put a curfew on us? The order won’t be able to meet at all!” Hermoine added.

“I wasn’t thinking, alright?” he said. “OW!”

“You sure weren’t,” Molly accused, stepping back after having gotten him on the top of the head.

“I just wanted to get back at them for all the hell they’ve put everyone through, make them walk on eggshells for a while,” he spat.

Just like that, all of the anger in the room seemed to leave it. He stepped around the table and took a seat. Hermione and Molly joined him, taking each other’s hands. They sat for a few moments of silence for those they’d lost.

“Fred and Ron would be very proud of you. They were probably laughing along with you as you placed them,” Molly spoke in a hushed, cracking voice. “But they’ll need to be removed before they can be traced back to us or anyone else. We wouldn’t want anyone suffering for our actions, wouldn’t we?”

Soon Arthur, Percy, Ginny, and Charlie came back from their placements. Molly distributed slices of bread and cheese and mugs of ale to all those present. After supper they all went about the village with faintly-lighted wands, carefully digging up the jinx mines George had placed. There was a total of thirty nine spread around Hogsmeade. 

When they’d collected what George confirmed was all of them, they went back to the Burrow for some more warm ale. Hermione wasn’t ready to go home. Ginny seemed to sense her discomfort and pulled her upstairs into the room she had previously shared with Ron. Hermione sat down on the empty bed and held her mug of hot ale.

“What’s wrong, Hermione? And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I _know_ you,” she prompted.

Hermione took a shaky breath, opening her mouth to deny Ginny’s accusations before catching her friend’s stern gaze. Hermione took a deep, shaky breath, looked down into her foaming drink and confided in her friend.

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” Ginny whispered angrily after Hermione had told her of her encounters with the prince. Of course she’d left out the part about her actually being aroused by his forcefulness and the part about Snape being a traitorous scumbag. She made a mental note to ask Molly to make some treacle fudge later. “I'm gonna to kill him-“ she said before her collar flared with angry red light and she sunk down onto the floor screaming and writhing.

“Ginny!” she yelled. She heard Molly echo her cry.

“What’s wrong with her?” Arthur asked, running up the stairs.

Soon the whole family had crowded into the room.

“She expressed that she wanted to kill the prince,” Hermione gasped, distraught.

“I guess she meant it,” George smiled, proud and afraid for his sister.

“What do we tell the guard when they come?” Percy asked.

“I don’t know,” Charlie near yelled, frustrated.

They all sat in silence for a moment, Molly and Arthur stroking their daughter’s shoulders and hair soothingly. No one had known that speaking mere words of harming the prince would sound the alarm.

“She got annoyed at George for saying something,” Hermione suggested.

“Why me?” George exclaimed, playing innocent. Six pairs of eyes looked back at him exasperatedly. “Alright, _what did I do this time_?” he asked in a sing-song voice.

“Tease her about Harry for the thousandth time? It was enough to get him boil-bombed before the war,” Charlie suggested. Everyone nodded.

“Just to be safe,” Ginny raised her wand and yelled, “Stupefy!” before the collar activated again, preventing the spell from being launched.

Hermione felt sick watching her friend writhe around on the ground again to defend her. Molly had been right: it felt rotten seeing others suffer for her.

Shortly after, they heard a knock at the door. Blaise Zabini stepped into the hollow and interrogated them briefly. He checked the last spell Ginny had cast, satisfied once it had been confirmed to be a simple "Stupefy" like they'd claimed. Once he'd left with a handful of muggle guards, Hermione put on her cloak and gloves and made to leave. Before she'd ventured too far, Molly leaned out the door and called out, "Hermione, dear, come over for my birthday dinner next Wednesday night, will you?" 

Hermione turned back and waved to her, cementing the plans. She was glad to have found a home with the Weasleys. 


	8. Spiced Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter before I go to sleep. I'll get to the more exciting chapter "Thanks for the bottom power . . . I guess" tomorrow morning.   
> But before that, who's of age and wants to half-learn how to make mulled wine? 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!   
> Enjoy! :)

During the week and a half leading up to Molly’s birthday supper two muggle soldiers and another one of the prince’s black-robed lackeys stepped on jinxmines. Hermione had at first been afraid for George, but had realized how clever it was to leave a couple for someone to step on every now and again. It would've been weird had they all just disappeared as soon as they’d shown up.

The night before the party, Hermione made her way to the market to buy cloves and an orange. Since the border had opened, trade had become cheaper. Hermione was grateful for this, though cheaper goods weren’t enough to make her warm up to the Slytherins. She would not sell her soul to the devil just to eat exotic fruit more than once a year.

She found the fruit stall from Ravenclaw soon enough and took a moment to breathe in the tart citrus and observe the pointed dragon and star fruits. Hermione gently squeezed a couple oranges before choosing a medium-sized one with a shiny exterior.

Next she went to the spice vendor. She smiled charmingly at Hermione, the golden ring in her nose reflecting the torch light.

“What can I get you, miss?”

“I’m just looking for some cloves and some Star Anise for a spiced wine,” Hermione informed the vendor.

“Ooh, is that why you’ve got an orange? Could I make some suggestions?”

“Please do.”

“I think you can get away without the star anise, miss. It is very pricey and only really adds to the aesthetic. I’ve never really tasted it in the spiced wine on this continent. I would recommend adding a touch of honey, however. I have a nice small pot here.”

“I guess I can substitute it for some of the sugar. My parents used to tell me that it was better for the teeth and throat anyways.”

“Exactly, and honey doesn’t go bad. We’ve had historians in Ravenclaw find thousand-year old honey that's still perfectly edible and sweet. There are tasting sessions at our galleries.”

“Really?” Hermione said, intrigued by such an event. “That sounds so nice. Alright, could I please get a bag of ten whole cloves and a small jar of honey?”

“Right away, madam,” the vendor smiled.

Hermione walked home contented by the interaction she’d had with the spice vendor. Sure it was her job to butter up the customers, _to catch flies with honey, if you will_ (Hermione laughed internally at the expression. Everyone knew flies preferred vinegar), but the vendor’s kindness and her having picked up on Hermione’s love of fun facts had been appreciated.

Her mood spoiled again once she got back home.

Hermione opened the door to her cold house, setting her sack on the dining table. She made her way to the fireplace, piling some twigs and logs on the stone base and lighting it with a gentle _Incendio_. She held her hands up to the fire to warm them before using them to swat a roll of parchment as it flew from the fire at her face with a smoking green trail. She yelped and fell onto the cold wood floor. The letter had landed under her bum, forcing her to shift in order to slide it from underneath her. The roll was sealed not with the twine that was the standard in Hogsmeade, but with the symbol of the house of Slytherin set in a dark green wax. Hermione sighed before breaking the seal, fearing that it would say what she knew it would. The letter absolutely disappointed.

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger_

_Your presence has been requested by the crown prince Draco Lucius Malfoy tomorrow evening after your workday ends, on Wednesday October 30 th. _

_Signed,_

_Tom Marvolo Riddle, Adviser to the Crown Prince_

Hermione cursed, crumpling the letter with her fist. There was no way in Hades she would miss Molly’s birthday and a chance to see the Weasleys for this _Sacred_ swot. She was tempted to throw it in the fire, but decided that she should save paper.

Hermione needed to think of a way to properly refuse the request, however. She knew that it was an order, no matter how this Riddle man phrased it. She glared at the fire, half expecting to see the prince’s stupid face in the fire, smirking at her.

She growled as she got up and heated one of the coal stoves up to a medium temperature. She walked over to the table, shedding her coat before going to the dish wall. A shiver passed over her spine as she reached up to grab a sauce pan from a shelf just above her head. She felt the ghost warmth of Draco’s hand on her hip but dismissed it as coming from the fire even if she knew it wasn’t fully true.

Hermione compared the size of the bottle of wine to the size of her only sauce pan. It had been an engagement her father had bought for her mother on his last trip down south. It had been his sister’s or so he’d told her. None of his family had ever come to visit Hogsmeade. Her father had always claimed that the trek had been too expensive for his large family. He’d always regretted that they’d missed the ceremony and meeting her, but that they would always occupy a special place in their home: the third shelf up, sixth dish from the left.

It would unfortunately be a tight fit but it would have to do. The thought of using one of her parent’s cauldrons had crossed her mind, but been quickly dismissed. Cooking and Healing were two very different sacred tasks.

Hermione put in the sugar and honey before squeezing half an orange into the pot. She placed the sauce pan onto the coals and stirred until it came to a boil before lowering the temperature and covering the pan to let it simmer for a half hour or so.

Normally she and her mom would play Malanca while her father sang folk songs by the fire during this stage, but Hermione was all alone, so she put a pan on the fire and toasted a good slice of bread. While she waited for the first side to brown, Hermione reread the short message, trying to figure out the best way to get out of the summons. She doubted the prince would take,

_Dear your royal highness, Prince Draco Lucius Malfoy,_

_I’m busy._

_Yours,_

_Hermione Granger_

As an acceptable answer. She didn’t want to give him too much detail, and she didn’t think that lying would be well received. It’s not like she could fake an emergency that forced her to stay at the infirmary late, Lord Zabini wouldn’t report anything to anyone higher up and he would eventually receive word that it was not the case.

The smell of burnt toast brought her back to her senses. Unfortunately she immediately lost them, reaching into the pan to flip the fire with her fingers. She cried out at the pain, running outside and pressing her fingers against the near-frozen ground before casting cooling charm on her fingers.

She used the occlumency strategies professor Macgonagall had taught her to keep murderous thoughts of _that fucking prince_ as she waved her cooling fingers. Once they’d healed back into a useful state, she wrote a brief response to the prince, sending it through the floo without a second thought before turning back to her supper and spiced wine.

***

The next day passed by quite slowly. She was relieved that it was a low-injury day for the muggles, glad to see that the prince’s lackeys and own muggle guards were being easier on her neighbors, though she dreaded the idea of them becoming submissive. She hoped that something would happen soon to reignite the fire in all of their eyes. At lunch she had her usual salmon, bread and peas, eating quickly before sending taking over the large pot of spiced wine to the Burrow. It had been empty, so she had placed it on the floor and casted a pest-repelling charm on it. She didn’t want any _pests_ ruining Molly’s birthday and taking her from the people she loved. 


	9. Bottom's up! No, I'd rather keep mine down, thank you very much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to Ruin a perfectly nice birthday: 
> 
> Ingredients: (Instructions to follow)
> 
> Awkward Sparklers
> 
> Wine 
> 
> The Flaming head with the coldest voice
> 
> Negotiations
> 
> Slug Club. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bottom Power" is not real power. It is what some women are forced to do when they live in a society where men limit their freedoms and their ability to achieve their goals. Ambitious and/or attractive women are often accused of using this to achieve their goals. Some women do this by their own volition, all the more power to them, but there are cases where women are coerced into complying, like in the #Metoo movement.

All lights had been doused in the Weasley home, the failed silence being filled with excited laughter and attempts to hush the crowd. Everyone was a little drunk from Hermione’s spiced wine and filled with Arthur's special shepherd's pie.

Hermione was glad that she’d come and grateful that everyone was enjoying what she’d brought. She'd probably overeaten; she felt so full she didn’t know if she would be able to fit the lovely cake Bill and Fleur had brought with them.

A light shone in the kitchen along with the telltale crackling of sparklers. She looked at Molly’s gasp of joy as Fleur and George came out of the kitchen. The light smoke that came from the sparklers formed the words _Happy Birthday Mum_.

“For she’s a jolly good fellow,” George’s mockingly operative voice started the group off. “For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good feh-ellow . . . that nobody can deny!” They all sang. As the sparklers neared the end of their tracks, they continued, “How old are you? How old are you? How old, how o-old, how old are you?”

The smoke above puffed out and formed the words “To old for this sh-“. Before the last word could form, Molly waved her hands through the smoke and sent it fading towards the ceiling. Everyone laughed, including George who got several smacks on the back of the head.

The cake was a beautifully flavoured with lemon with a poppy seed cream frosting. Hermione dug into the cake which nearly melted in her mouth. It seemed that every other bite someone complimented Bill and Fleur on it. Before long it had all but disappeared, save for two pieces Molly was saving to place at Ron’s and Fred’s graves.

Just as Arthur had grabbed his present, putting it in front of her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a good kiss on the cheek, the fireplace exploded with fire. Hermione leapt to the side as she felt its flames kiss her back.

A giant head made of fire loomed over her, searching the room. It turned to her, revealing the face of the prince.

“Ah, Granger. Is _this_ why you chose to refuse my summons with such common arrogance? A little birthday party for some old witch?” He hissed, face pushing forward for emphasis. Hermione glanced at the very unfrightened and in fact very angry red faces of the Weasleys. They were almost redder than the prince’s flaming face. He laughed angrily. “ _To Prince Draco Lucius Malfoy, I’m busy. Signed, Hermione Granger. P.S. Do what you will, but can you really afford to lose a healer before flu season?_ You are pushing your luck, Granger. I recommend that you come over to Hogwarts Castle before I burn this place to the ground.”

Hermione was tempted to tell him to _just fuck off_ , but even her wine-aided courage wasn’t giving her _that_ much courage. “Fine,” she spat out exasperatedly. “Where am I flooing to?”

“The entrance, of course. My advisor will pick you up, _pet_ ,” he exaggerated the consonants in the word pet. Hermione flushed despite the disappearance of the heat that had been radiating off of his flaming face. He had humiliated her on purpose, basically spelled out exactly what he was going to do to her to the Weasleys.

“It seems I have to go,” Hermione grit out. She hugged and kissed everyone on the cheek as she made her way to the cloak hanger. She riffled through the many cloaks before she found her own. She was tempted to charge out the door and walk to Hogwarts, but the night was cold and the walk a good half hour. She didn’t want to give him an excuse to take anyone else from them. “I’m sorry for ruining your birthday, Molly. Thanks for having me,”

“Just be safe, dear. I’ll take your bottle to the infirmary tomorrow. We can talk, if you’d like,” she gave a kind smile and pulled her in for another hug as if Hermione could take this one with her and use it as a shield against what they all thought was to come.

With one last look at the Weasleys, Hermione threw a fistful of floo powder into the fireplace and stepped out in front of the looming doors of Hogwarts Castle.

She stomped right over to the peep hole and knocked. Red eyes slit like snakes met hers. Hermione tried to keep her voice steady as she introduced herself. “Hermione Granger. Summoned here by the crown prince.”

“Ah, yes. Come in,” said the man behind the door. His voice sounded like dozens painful or terrified gasps wrapped up into one sinister whisper. He opened the smaller winter door and let her in. His long fingers grasped her arms to stop her and get a good look at her.

There was so much _wrong_ about this man. Hermione’s instincts were telling him to run, to tear herself from his long bony fingers, to kick him into the black could of smoke his robes made him look like, but his red slit eyes held her frozen. “Hermione Granger,” he looked her up and down. “Our precious Prince Draco hasn’t had a restful night since he laid eyes on you. I hope you can help him with that. Come.” He put an arm around her shoulder and led her through the castle to the Prince’s quarters, drumming his fingers on her shoulder like an impatient spider as they went.

Hermione was astonished at how much the castle had and hadn’t changed after a month of Slytherin occupation. All of the flags had been changed to display the Slytherin colours. There were new portraits of Slytherin nobles, royals, and historical figures. The very air had seemed to change as well. It wasn’t dryer, per say, and it didn’t smell too differently, but it was different, uncomfortable. Hermione was almost relieved when he pulled her to a long hall lit with green flames. He knocked and a moment later the prince opened the door.

“My liege,” Advisor Riddle said, bowing low and pushing Hermione down with him. “Here is Hermione Granger, just as you have requested.”

“Thank you, Tom. That’ll be all,” the prince answered stiffly. Hermione saw his hand twitch as he held out his hand for her to take.

Hermione glanced at _Tom_ before taking the prince’s hand. He looked very displeased with the prince’s addressing him by his first name. The prince very nearly pulled her in once he had her hand. They both let out a sigh of relief when the door finally separated them from the snake-like man.

“He’s one of my father’s men,” the prince stated, taking off her cloak and hanging it by the fireplace. “Sent to watch over me, keep me in check or whatever.” Draco dismissed the thought with a wave of his free arm. He gestured for her take a seat on one of three couches in front of a fireplace. Hermione noticed some floo powder spread around the fireplace. She smiled to herself, wondering how many homes he’d gone through before he’d found he at the Burrow.

The prince went deeper in the room and poured them a goblet of wine each. She put hers on the table and pushed it away slightly. She’d already had enough tonight.

“Drink,” he said forcefully, not in the best of moods.

“I don’t want-“

“It wasn't an offer. Drink with me Granger.” He grabbed the cup and brought it to her lips, tilting it slightly. Hermione grabbed the goblet so that he wouldn’t spill. She met his eyes as she took a sip. The tension was so thin she wondered if a pin’s drop would break it. He stood over her and tipped his goblet back with one hand before taking a seat in the couch she sat in, knocking her knees gently with his own. Hermione held the goblet on her lap and scooted to the other end of the couch. The prince followed, crowding her when they reached the other end.

Hermione quickly peeled away, bringing her arms up to keep some distance between them. He leaned back in the cushions, looking pleased that he had gotten to her. “What do you want from me?”

“Some bloody honest company,” he said. “And a good romp of course.”

Hermione’s mouth gaped at the crude language that had left the mouth of the crown prince of Slytherin. He came from one of the proudest families she’d ever read about. Surely his parents and tutors would have punished him dearly for uttering such words.

“I’m going to need _something_ to get me through this bloody occupation.” He took another drink. “All my life is now is paperwork, executions, the bloody Sacred 28 and that fucking snake and _his fucking snake_. Everyone else is too afraid to look into my eyes. But you, you see me. You look into my eyes and _see me_. It’s bloody disarming and exhilarating, Granger." A beat. "It makes me want to devour you.”

Her looked away form his intense eyes. That last statement had been said with a promise. It distracted her from all of the vulnerability he had let loose. The room around her faded away. She stood, swaying slightly as if she were hanging as her mind returned to her previous encounters. In the dim of the room of requirement, heart pounding, breath escaping in small gasps as he’d looked down on her with those hungry eyes. Then in her own home, his warm breath on her face as he’d held her to the wall, his hand pressed into her hip as he’d put the plates away.

She returned to the present as that familiar breath returned to her face. He looked at her with those hungry eyes again, seeking permission with them as she met his gaze. She closed the gap between him. She pushed and pulled his lips, gripping the fabric of his jacket to pull him closer to me. He wrapped his arms around her, tracing patterns on her lower back.

A moment later she remembered herself, eyes widening, wondering what _in Merlin’s name_ she was doing. She tried to push away from him, spilling her wine on the polished wood floor, but he held fast, pulling her closer and massaging her back with his fingers in an attempt to put her at ease. She panicked for a moment, wondering where this might be taken.

She opened her mouth to say _something_ , _anything to get him off of her,_ but his tongue invaded her mouth. For a moment she got lost in the soft pressure against her own tongue before she once again remembered herself. She felt like she was about to drown, being pulled under water by the tide and brought up for air. She knew that if this continued she’d eventually drown in him.

When he parted for breath, she cried out, “Severus Snape’s with the-“ before she felt the slugs worming their way up her throat. Draco jumped out of the way just as the slugs spilled from her mouth and onto the floor between them.

“What the hell?” He yelled, waving his arms at her. 

Hermione gasped and coughed, spitting out the slime and washing the taste down with what remained in her goblet of wine.

“What the hell _me_? What the hell were you doing? I was pushing you away!” she cried out, throwing her empty goblet at him. He ducked and she heard it clatter somewhere behind the couch. She stormed over to him, punching his chest and arms. He threw his hands up to protect himself, trying to close them around her arms, eventually grabbing her wrists to keep her from exploding. “I know you said you liked _the hunt_ ,” she said, bending two fingers of each hand to imitate quotation marks, “but-- and I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this—if we’re going to do this we need to establish some ground rules.”

“What?” the prince laughed.

Hermione walked past him and to the desk by the opposite wall. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now she stepped towards it with purpose. She grabbed a piece of parchment paper, a quill, and a pot of ink. She tapped the feathered end on her head after that, not quite sure what to call this. It was a contract, an _agreement_ between the two of them. She knew exactly what kind it was but to put it on paper where someone could read it was a whole other matter.

_Agreement between Miss Hermione Granger and His Highness, Draco Malfoy_ , she wrote at the top of the page.

“I supposed you’ll want to make this magically binding?”

“Of course.” She didn’t raise her head. She tried to model the introduction and purpose of the contract after the ones she had read over her mother’s shoulder as a child.

_This is an agreement between the aforementioned parties to withhold the negotiated terms of their exchange of favours. To Draco Lucius Malfoy, Hermione Jean Granger offers her companionship and to be at his beck and call after work hours and during lunches._

“If I wanted, I could just keep you here in the castle as my personal healer.” Hermione could hear the jeer in his voice from behind her.

“No you couldn’t make me your personal healer. No one would trust me enough. And I only have about a year’s experience anyways. And technically you don’t have to make this agreement at all,” she pondered out loud. “If you really wanted, you could just take me. I still don’t know why you aren’t doing that. I’ve read your family history, you know.”

“As I said, I want you willing. You might have read about my predecessors, but I had to grow up with some of them. It was ugly, to say the least,” he admitted, crossing his arms and walking to the side. “I wonder what about you makes me open up so easily. I was never allowed to speak this openly as a child.”

“Troubled men do like to use women as therapists with benefits. Want me to add that?”

“How about a vow of secrecy?”

“Sounds reasonable. We are still technically on opposite sides of the war, after all.” Hermione added the vow of secrecy to the contract.

_To Hermione Jean Granger, Draco Lucius Malfoy promises to keep her blood status a secret._

“Is that all you’re asking from the magically binding contract you’re making with the crown prince who just took the continent?”

“Alright,” she started writing and reading out loud. “Draco Lucius Malfoy will also treat his muggle subjects courteously and will encourage others to do so as well. He will allow these muggle subjects to live at their previous homes and come to their work positions every morning.”

“Treat _muggles_ as _mages_?” he laughed incredulously as if the very thought was disturbing. “Out of the question. People would think I’ve gone mad! Treating muggles as even _your_ equal.”

“If you don’t agree to that term then-“ she tried to argue.

“Then what, mudblood?” He grabbed her shoulders from behind. “Remember that you have no leverage here.”

His sudden change of demeanor frightened her. Had he lost his mind like many of his ancestors had? He seemed highly unstable, like he didn’t know who he was. Who was he grasping at? Hermione struggled to think of a way to salvage the situation. She didn’t know how she would leave the room, _if_ she would leave the room. Then the thought occurred to her. 

She _could_ just walk out.

Hermione slammed her fist on the table. _Again with that slur!_ “Fine,” she snapped, tearing up the page she’d started. "I can't do this tonight. I can't do this in this place," she hinted. 

“What. . . What are you doin-Oof!” Hermione backed her chair into him roughly, stepping around the desk and to the fire.

“Going home,” she huffed. “I’ve got nothing to gain and my self-respect to lose.”

“What if I reveal your blood status?”

“And end your _hunt_ before it’s even begun?” Hermione smiled coyly at him and whispered her address. He’d just have to come the long way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is back on.  
> What do you know? They actually manage to negotiate something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to put a partial non-con warning on this chapter. Hermione starts out terrified for her life, but when she finds out who has invaded her home, she calms down and gets into it. I am trying to set up a dynamic that's suspenseful but with consent (In case I don't make it clear in the dialogue). Hermione deserves better.  
> This chapter does not fit in with the tone of the rest of the story, neither does the contract part for the last bit. This can be read as apart from the story. I got a little taken by the idea of Draco wanting to "hunt" or roleplay as a way to escape from his father's expectations and reclaim some control in his life. After this chaper you'll see that Hermione still is very skeptical of Draco. He only separated her from her family and killed one of her best friends a week ago, after all. So, enjoy some light smut.

Hermione had not so much as taken three steps from her fireplace when the flames roared up behind her and she was tackled to the ground. She shrieked and tried to buck off whatever was on top of her. It squirmed up her body and covered her mouth their with human hand. Hermione licked it as she continued to writhe and kick. She hit mainly knees and shins, nothing too vulnerable. Finally she felt a finger come within biting range. She didn’t need any other invitation, so she latched on, biting till she tasted blood. 

Then her world was nothing but pain. 

She saw the red flashes just before pain like hot knives spread throughout her body. Hermione roared, gritting her teeth and bending as far back as she could. Her attacker leapt off of her, taking instead to sitting down and holding her against them. She faintly felt them stroking her hair, trying their best to help her through the momentary agony. 

When it passed, Hermione looked up and met Draco’s worried eyes. 

“It hadn’t looked so bad when that Wood fellow had endured it,” Draco said. 

“Yeah,” she panted, using him to right herself. “Well Oliver’s on the guard. He has a higher pain tolerance than most people do.”

Draco seemed slightly haunted. “I’ve never seen it so up close. Your screams were absolutely dreadful.”

“Well, you’ll probably be hearing a lot more of those screams around here. We Hogsmeadians have stamina. If you sign that agreement and make our lives better we might not kill you when all of this is over.”

“How are you so sure that it will be?” 

“It will,” she left no discussion in her tone. Draco looked unnerved by her sureness. Hermione worried for a moment that she'd said too much. She needed to distract him. Hermione got up and filled two mugs of ale for them before returning to sit beside Draco on the floor. “I’m pleased you got my hint, by the way.” 

Draco let out a dry laugh. “I almost missed the floo, actually. I know where you live, so you might as well give me your address, Granger.” 

“Let’s talk this over plainly, first, then.” Hermione swallowed a gulp of ale and wet her lips. “We are two adults who both seem to be . . . interested in exploring this relationship further.” Draco had started playing with her hair again. Hermione hummed at a particularly pleasant tug. “I do think we need to set some ground rules. I, for one, would appreciate it if you'd stop calling me that slur. I'm also not a whore or a slut, and most definitely not because my parents are muggles. Is that clear?” 

“Crystal,” he breathed against her throat. 

“Focus, your highness,” Hermione said, pushing his head away. 

“Call me Draco when we’re in private please. I’d like to hear someone besides my parents use it in my lifetime.” He brushed her hair aside again and kissed the corner of her jaw. 

“Alright, Draco, alright. But first we need to talk.” 

“You do love talking, don’t you Granger?”

“This is for our own safety! We at least need to come up with a code so I don’t try to beat you senseless and end up writhing on the ground.”

“A code? Like a knock or word?” Sarcasm dripped from each syllable. 

“Exactly. Something that wouldn't come up naturally if I were to really be attacked.” Hermione doubted that this would happen. Unlike Ron and Charles Chase, she had learned to hold her tongue and keep her hands to herself unless she was healing. Hermione had wished that Ron had had a chance to cool his head. Having so many siblings had prevented him from understanding the harm his words or actions could cause. Hermione wished that Draco had had some instant brotherly forgiveness at that moment and that he hadn't needed to make an example. She tried to stop thinking about Ron before she became utterly repulsed by the man carding his fingers through her hair. 

“Why don’t I call you by your full title?” 

“Absolutely not. That is a name my community bestowed upon me. You’re not going to taint it with our affair. Why don’t you just kick the ground three times? It’s not like we’re going to do this in broad daylight. Too many people would try to help you and then you’d need to explain why you chased me.”

“Trust me, no one but old Riddle would care enough or be willing to rat me out.”

“Did you forget that this could ruin my reputation, Your Highness?” 

“Fine, I won’t hunt you down in plain sight.”

“Thank you. I don’t want any of my neighbors suffering because they tried to protect me from you.” 

Draco downed the rest of his ale and put it on the ground beside him. “Now, where were we?” Without any warning, he flipped Hermione onto her back and crawled over her. Draco changed his expression to one of sinister amusement. “What have we here?” 

Hermione nearly got whiplash from how quickly he had gotten into character. She smiled sweetly and innocently, bringing her hand up beside her head and waggling her fingers at his looming face. “Just a lone traveler. I didn’t know that there would be bandits in these woods.” 

“Didn’t you now? Or were you secretly hoping you’d be caught and ravished by a ruffian, left with nothing, not even the clothes on your back?” Draco put his hand on her side and slid it down to squeeze the round of her bottom. 

Hermione gasped. “Oh please don’t steal anything! If I don’t sell these. . .” Hermione felt around the floor, searching for ‘her wares’. The first thing her fingers brushed was a chair. “Chairs. They take hours to make. We’d lose three days’ food if you take them. My husband will be awfully angry when I come back without money to feed us. Please let me pass, sir rogue.” 

Draco chuckled darkly, “I suppose there is one thing you could do to pay your way.” 

“Please! Anything!” Hermione said, getting to what Ron often said was ‘the good stuff’. 

“Unlace your shirt,” Draco ordered. 

“My shirt?” she asked innocently, grabbing the neckline with her hands and covering her chest and neck up. 

“It’s either your shirt or your skirt. Take your pick,” he teased, brushing her ankles and sliding her dress up mid-calf. 

“Shirt!” Hermione called out, loosening her cloak and unlacing the strings that held her red partlet together. She put the piece on the ground beside her. Without it, her outfit started falling apart. She reached up and fiddled with the shoulders of her dress, trying to regain some sense of modesty. 

Draco growled possessively, taking the shoulders of Hermione’s dress and pulled them down, revealing her breasts. Draco stared at them for a moment before placing his hands over them and squeezing. Hermione squeaked, but felt her nipples harden. Draco leaned down to meet her neck and seemed to try to devour it. The tickling and pressure felt so perfect. His nose tickled her skin as he placed wet kisses along her neck and throat. He swept his tongue slowly over her collarbone when he reached her chest before leaning back to admire his work. After an eternity he came back down and licked a circle around her areola before sucking on her nipple. 

It felt good, Hermione had to admit. Her stomach certainly fluttered, but it didn’t feel like the books she’d read had described. It was not so breathtaking or moan-inducing. It was a man latched onto her breast. She wanted to encourage the surprisingly fragile man, however, so she let out a gasp and raked her hands through his hair. Draco traded breasts, focusing on her left one with his mouth and her right one with his hand now. 

“I don’t see how your husband can be angry with these breasts,” Draco said, coming back up to kiss her lips. “They’re a full meal on their own.”

“Are you suggesting that my starving husband should eat my breasts?” Hermione asked, faking astonishment. 

“Not only your breasts, love.” He winked. “But I’ll save dessert for your trip back.” 

Draco kissed her once more before standing up and walking to the fire. “It was lovely seeing you, Granger. I have to go, however. I’ll never hear the end of it if Riddle rats me out for sleeping on the job. Until next time.” Draco then took a handful of floo powder and left, leaving Hermione disheveled and dizzy. 

Damn that man could kiss.


	11. The Order of the Pheonix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Order Meeting  
> An amputation. Warning for slight gore.
> 
> This chapter takes place three days after Hermione storms out of Draco's place. Please note that interactions between Hermione and Draco will ignore their small stint last chapter. I got carried away.

It was the first Sunday of November. Cold rushes of wind blew through the cloaks and scorched the faces of Hogsmeadians and Slytherins alike, leaving their skin red and dry. Snow had not yet fallen on the rolling hills and fields, but frost crunched between foot and frozen ground.

Normally Hermione came home to a cold home and lit a fire, stepping around and rubbing her arms to try to warm herself. Though made of wood and filled with quilts and cots from when it used to work as an at-home non-magical clinic, the place did not retain heat well with no one to occupy it most of the waking hours of the day. Today, however, Hermione hadn’t gone straight home or to the Weasleys, though she sat right beside them. Today the Order of the Phoenix met.

They met in the basement of Honeydukes, hushed secrete hidden by cauldrons filled with pastes, syrups, and sauces which never ceased stirring. They met up the first and third Sundays of each month to discuss strategy and the status of those travelling abroad, looking for help.

Hermione was excited to share what she’d learned about the prince since she’d met him.

Kingley Shacklebolt led the meetings. As a member of the Sacred 28, he had been begrudgingly left out of a collar. His family had left during the Little Liberation four hundred years ago, where the Shacklebolts, Ollivanders, Weasleys, and Longbottoms had fled Slytherin and established themselves elsewhere, hence the establishments of Ravenclaw (Named after the Lovegood’s and Patil’s predecessors) and West Diagon. Unfortunately the Weasleys hadn't been granted the same courtesy after Ron's execution. Their large family would have posed a threat. 

“Hello everyone. It’s good to see you’ve all shown up, especially you Dean, you missed last time, correct?”

“Yes, this time it’s Seamus who’s pulled the short straw and is keeping Zabini . . . busy. We recently learned that the Carrows all have a fish allergy. It’s not allowed to be served in their wing of the castle. They have their own kitchen.”

“Very useful, Dean! Pass on my thanks to Seamus, please, and tell him that we look forward to seeing him in two weeks. The two of you have been greatly instrumental as eyes in the Castle." He turned to Hermione, no doubt having heard of the prince's summons from the Weasleys. "Granger, I hear you’ve gotten close to the prince. How did that come to be?”

“I have no clue, really. I guess he was taken by my fight instinct, something that all of us share, admittedly. I was the only one in the room, however, so he latched onto me. We can chalk that up to adrenaline.”

“Well, you’ve been very brave to keep it up. Have you learned anything yet?”

“Yes. It seems that the prince feels trapped under his father’s expectations of him as the future ruler. I’ve brought it up that he could just force me to cooperate, but he keeps insisting that he wants me willing. I think he wants all of us willing, somehow.”

“Good. We can use that.”

“I’ve brought up the issue of desegregating muggles and mages, but he seems disgusted by that idea. I don’t think we’ll be able to move him on that issue, unfortunately.”

“That’s disappointing. Thank you, Granger.”

“One more thing,” Hermione said, having noticed that Snape wasn’t there. She pulled out a piece of treacle fudge she’d made just in case. “Do you want to know who’s a traito-“ she leaned forward and vomited the snails before taking a couple bites of fudge. When she looked up again, Kingsley was looking at her with shocked and concerned eyes. “Severus Snape is a traitor who’s working for the Slytherins.” She shoved some more fudge into her mouth, swallowing it down with the snails that threatened to come up. “He told the Slytherins where the other vanishing cabinet was.” She took another bite and stood up. She didn’t know how much longer the fudge would keep the snails down. “He cursed me with the slug-burping curse to keep me quiet. I don’t know what else he’s done, but we should watch what we say around him.” Hermione ran out of the room and found a bin, throwing up snail after snail. Her eyes started tearing up, her throat felt shredded. Someone came behind her and gently grabbed her hair, keeping it out of her face as the snails kept coming. They rubbed her back as well, trying to soothe her. Eventually, the snails started coming out at a slower pace. She started counting the seconds between each snail like her father and mother had counted the minutes between pregnant women’s contractions. When they came at thirty seconds apart, Hermione grabbed another piece of fudge and chewed and swallowed it as quickly as possible. Another snail came out, another piece of fudge came in, and so it continued until the nausea passed completely.

Finally, she looked up to find Harry and Lily standing behind her. Their eyes were full of concern. Lily was the first to come forward and offer her a hug.

“Thank you, Hermione. Snape was never a fan of James, given their history, but I never thought it’d lead to such a betrayal."

“I’m sorry, Lily,” Hermione said.

“It’ll be alright.” She carded her fingers through Hermione’s hair, giving her a meaningful look and returning to the group, not wanting to miss news of her husband.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Harry asked, moving in front of her placing a hand on her shoulder. He stroked it with his thumb gently.

“I’ll be fine. I won’t have to use it again from now on unless I’m in danger. And he gave me an effective safe-word. Brightside.” She patted Harry’s own shoulder and led him back to the group.

Kingsley had moved on to others’ information. Hermione had missed a good chunk of her meeting, unfortunately, but she was glad that she’d gotten that off her chest.

“Alright, final order of business. Padfoot, Moody, Tonks, and Prongs have sent me word that they have landed safely in Beauxbatons. They’ve been given an audience with Queen Olympe Maxime. Based on their rocky history with Slytherin, I’m sure we can broker a deal of some sort with them.”

“With Moony’s wits and Padfoot’s and Prongs’ charm there’s no way she’ll refuse,” George shouted out.

“I’m not so sure, unfortunately. Slytherin has always had a reasonably friendly relationship with Beauxbaton’s neighbor to the north,” Hermione said. “How can we change their mind about them?”

“I hear that there’s going to be a visit from a Drumstrang Ambassador in some weeks,” drawled a familiar deep voice. Severus Snape stepped out from behind one of the cauldrons. “Please forgive my tardiness, Kingsley.”

“No problem at all, Severus,” Kingsley responded, acting as if Hermione hadn’t revealed his true nature. “Can you tell us more?”

“The Slytherins are not accustomed to our harsher winters, so I assume they want advice for how to weather our storms.”

Cornelius Fudge spoke up then, “Why not ask us how we survive?”

“You cannot expect them to just trust us after they’ve taken over our land, can you, Cornelius?”

“I suppose not. But do you know what they’re getting out of this?”

“I do not. I only overhear what the guard says as they pass by my office. By the way, Mr. Thoman, please do tell Mr. Finnigan that his father has taken ill. Granger, Abbott, you’ll see him in the infirmary in a few days when he collapses.”

“Oh.” Hermione heard Hannah say. “Thanks for the heads up.”

***

True to his word, Mr. Finnigan came to the infirmary the very next afternoon looking green. His trousers were so caked with blood and sweat that she almost didn’t find the gash in his leg. She saw caught the tear in his trousers by chance. She cracked it open a little, sending dried mud powder floating in the air and inside his trousers. Hermione grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his trousers up to his knee. When she put the cut-off parts in a bucket on the ground, she heard Madam Pomfrey gasp behind her. She poked Hermione out of the way to take a closer look, pouring water over Mr. FInnigan’s leg to get a clear view of the wound.

Hermione felt sick looking at the wound. Mr. Finnigan’s leg was yellow, red, green, and nearly every colour a leg _should not_ be. The cut had been pulled open by a large crusted bubble of puss. Madam Pomfrey felt around Mr. Finnigan’s leg before shaking her head. She confirmed the worst.

“We’re going to need to amputate,” She muttered.

Mr. Finnigan grimaced. If it wasn’t for the fact that Seamus had his mother’s eyes, Hermione could have almost imagined that it was Seamus sitting there on the table.

“Hermione, you’ll assist me,” Madam Pomfrey instructed.

Hermione nodded and pushed the cot down the hall to the more private surgical suite. She stopped him in the middle of the room and locked the door after Madam Pomfrey, casting a silencing charm so that they would not be disturbed.

“From the dark colour of the veins, it looks like the infection hasn’t spread too much past his knee. If we amputate at the joint he can keep it to ease prosthetic fitting and motion. Now,” she said, taking out her wand,

Hermione took a clean rag and folded it before putting it in front of Mr. Finnigan’s face. “Madam Pomfrey is going to cast a numbing charm, Mr. Finnigan, but you might still want this to bite into to help with any pain you might feel.

He nodded.

“Brakium Emendo,” Madam Pomfrey said, softening the bones in Mr. Finnigan’s calf to ease the amputation. She cast the numbing spell next before taking a saw and beginning to cut the limb off. Hermione followed Madam Pomfrey’s progress with a suction spell, getting the blood that spewed out of the way and giving her a clean view of what she was doing. Madam Pomfrey cut carefully around the bottom of the knee socket to ensure that he did not lose use of the joint. Once the poisoned limb was severed, Madam Pomfrey stroked her wand over what remained of Mr. Finnigan’s leg, pushing the infected blood out of the leg. When he only bled red, she bandaged up the wound. The whole procedure had taken about two hours. “Alright, Mr. Finnigan, we’re all done for today. There is no more infection in your body. We’ll make it look pretty tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey, Miss Granger,” he said as the two healers left the room.

Madam Pomfrey and Hermione washed their hands of the blood and discarded the limb into a container to be examined further later. When they returned to the reception area, Dean, Seamus, and Blaise were there. “Sir Zabini, Mr. Finnigan’s father is recovering from an operation. Would you allow him to see him? I’m sure you and Mr. Thomas are capable of doing your check-in without young Mr. Finnigan here. Hermione, why don’t you accompany him?”

“Not so fast,” Blaise said, gesturing to Hermione. “Pat her down, Dean.”

Hermione extended her arms and submitted to the frisking. There was nothing to be found on her, however, so she led Seamus to the surgical suite. As she turned the corner, she heard Madam Pomfrey insist that she wanted to do a full medical examination of each muggle in Hogsmeade before any others suffered like Mr. Finnigan. 

“Pa!” Seamus exclaimed when he saw his father and noticed the missing limb.

“Ma boy!” His father said, opening his arms to receive his son.

“How did this happen?”

“I must have cut m’self on a corpse or a weapon or something. We don’t have much time for hygiene.”

“You look like me whenever I tried my potions practice,” the two of them laughed, remembering Seamus’ constantly grimy face. “Hermione, could I please use a towel and some water?”

“Of course,” Hermione said with tears in her eyes and her voice. _Let’s help him feel human again._


	12. (Doofenshmitrz jingle) Using folks as my own plot devices!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Kitty!
> 
> Please remember to disregard the interaction of chapter ten when analyzing interactions between Draco and Hermione.   
> Enjoy! :)

That evening more than ever Hermione wished that Slytherin had never invaded and that her parents were with her. She’d treated some pretty traumatic wounds in the direct aftermath of the war, but this was the first major physical trauma she’d seen since things had calmed down. She couldn’t get the images of the discoloured severed leg or the cavity in the knee socket where the limbs should have rested. She wondered what would happen to Mr. Finnigan now that he was no longer able to do the brutal physical work the majority of the muggle men had been delegated. Surely they wouldn’t _kill_ him. Would they?

Hermione took her father’s mug and filled it with ale. She’d been warned many times by her parents of the effects of alcoholism and trying to fix her problems by forgetting them, but one bigger beer couldn’t hurt, right? She took a long drink, only tipping the mug back when her lungs started screaming for air. She gasped for breath, slamming the mug onto the table, red ale nearly sloshing over the sides. She looked down at her drink. She’d barely made a dent. _How does father drink one of these every night?_

Just as she started debating whether it would be better to throw if back into the jug or drink it out of spite, a heavy knock sounded at the door. Hermione wondered who it could be, dreading the thought of it being the prince. She wasn’t sure if she could handle sexual favours or whatever scenario he wanted to run through to make himself feel like a man.

She was pleasantly surprised to find her favourite half giant looming over the doorway.

“Hey, Ermione,” Hagrid smiled. “Mind if I join yer fer supper?”

“Not at all, please come in!” she said, stepping aside before she was enveloped in a cold bear hug. “What brings you around, Hagrid?” Indeed, she hadn’t seen him since before the battle.

“I ‘eard that y’ad a hard day at work. I thought I’d keep you some company.”

“Thank you, Hagrid. It’s so sweet of you to think of me,” Hermione said, gesturing to him to sit on one of the cots since it was the only thing that would fit the half giant. “How have things been for you?” She dragged the kitchen table closer to where he sat before lighting the low-burning coal stoves and slicing some thicker slices of bread. She continued supper prep as she listened to him speak.

“Well, it’s been a lot’r trying to protect the animals. I keep tellin’ them Slytherin jerks that they’re important to biodiversity and the maintenance of the crops, but they think I’m raising an army to kill them. Ah! This brings me to my other purpose. Come here a moment, ‘Ermione. There’s someone I’d like yer to meet.”

Hermione turned the toast before moving over to Hagrid, who reached into his coat and pulled out a fluffy red cat. “What? He’s adorable!” Hermione cried out, reaching over slowly to let the cat sniff her hand. The angry-looking cat looked at her distrustfully for a moment before gracing her with his tiny pink nose. He followed his nose and rubbed his soft cheek and whiskers against her hand.

“This ‘ere is Crookshanks. Charlie named him that. Says it’s ‘cause he looks crooked and like he’ll shank you, whatever that means. I’ve never been able to keep up with the Weasley slang. I thought that you must be awfully alone ‘ere, so I figured you’d be good company, if you’ll have ‘im.”

“Of course!” she said, not even considering the alternative.

“Now, there are a couple things you’ll need to know, ‘Ermione. He’ll probably take yer afternoon salmon if yer not careful, but he also likes chicken, mice, rats, anything really. He’s a Bakeneko. Or at least he’s crossbred with a bakeneko. I’ve never seen him transform before. I bought him off some Ravenclaw trader who was set on drownin’ him. If yer ever in danger, he’ll take good care of you.”

“I, I don’t know what to say, Hagrid. Thank you,” she stammered gratefully.

“Say nothing. Go on to your mistress, Crookshanks.” He handed her the cat. It curled up on her chest, putting its chin on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hermione didn’t want to put him down, but had to let him on the ground when she smelled the toast burning.

That night, Crookshanks snuggled right up to her, sleeping by her side where her knees folded closer to her chest. He purred as she carded her fingers through the fur on his belly, helping her ease into a peaceful sleep.

Crookshanks wouldn’t leave her side the next day. She figured that he was nervous about being in a new space. He’d had all night to explore it, but she understood that it was completely different being absolutely alone in a new space. Still, she was surprised when he followed her right out the door of her home and to the infirmary, looking around at the new sights and lifting his pink nose to the morning’s smells.

“It smells good here, doesn’t it?” she asked him. “Fresh bread and cakes from the baker, crisp winter air, and fish from the market.” The cat looked at her. “What? I know you can smell it. I nearly can.”

Unsurprisingly, Madam Pomfrey wasn’t too pleased with Hermione’s new companion.

“What is that wretched thing doing in here?” she demanded.

“Looks like _someone’s_ not a morning person,” Hannah cooed. “Is this your new familiar?”

“Yes. This is Crookshanks. Hagrid dropped him off last night.”

“Excuse me, ladies. I’m sorry to interrupt, but what did I just say about there being animals in _my_ infirmary?”

“He could be good for the children who’re afraid of medical treatment,” Hannah suggested.

“I can ask him to wait outside,” Hermione suggested.

“You know what, if he’s so glued to you, why don’t you run and get a crutch and peg for Mr. Finnigan?”

“Alright, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Here are his measurements. Go on.”

Hermione turned to go to the coopery, but then remembered that Mr. Cooper was a muggle and had lost his job. He had been fiercely against the use of magic in woodworking, and Hermione doubted that anyone could match his skills. “Where do I go? Is Mr. Cooper still in business?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. Fortunately for him, his expertise were too essential to have him work in the fields. Now go on, please. I’d like Mr. Finnigan to be able to greet his son standing by the end of the week.”

Hermione wondered at that optimistic recovery estimate. However, Madam Pomfrey was known throughout the continent for her medical prowess. Hermione had been extremely fortunate to have been able to study under her. No doubt her parents had contributed to her getting the mentorship.

She walked briskly through the long road of shops, passing Honeydukes, Dervish and Banges, and The Hog’s Head and the others. Finally, at the end of the road, she came to Cooper’s Coopery. Entering the shop with a ding of the bell on the door, she walked through the narrow walkway between rows of barrels and caskets and wooden sculptures Cooper no doubt did for fun when he had the time. She found him at the back in his workshop, sanding a long one-by-four-by-twelve. She knocked gently on the wood to get his attention.

“Mr. Cooper?” she asked.

“Hello, Miss Granger, what can I do for you?” He turned from his sanding, letting the sanding block sit on the bench the wood laid on.

“I need a prosthetic for Mr. Finnigan. We had to amputate his leg due to an infection yesterday.”

  
“I’m sorry to hear about it,” he said, taking the parchment with the measurements. “I’ll get to it right away. Should be done by three today.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cooper. I’ll be back for it, then.”

“It’s a lot better than making their war machines,” she heard him say quietly as she left. She had a feeling that he’d wanted her to hear that. The door closed behind her with a jingle of the bell.

“Ah, Granger,” she heard someone call behind her.

She knew that voice and was _not_ in the mood, so she picked up her pace, weaving through the morning crowd to try and evade him. Crookshanks looked behind them, hissing when he identified who had called his new mistress’ name. She laughed and met his annoyed eyes as he caught up and matched her pace. She’d made it pretty far when someone latched onto her and pulled her into the narrow alley between two shops. In her surprise, the names evaded her.

Hermione made to scream, but a leather-gloved hand covered her mouth as another turned her to face her familiar assailant. Crookshanks hissed from beside her.

“Avoiding me, aren’t you Granger?” He leaned into her, speaking into the place where her neck met her shoulders. “That’s alright, it just makes it all the more fun.”

She tried to speak angrily under his gloved hand.

“Now, where are you off to on such a nice morning? Shouldn’t you be at the infirmary? Ooh! Are we playing hooky now? Can I play too?”

Hermione finally tore his hand away from her face. “I would _never_! If you must know, Your Highness,” she spat. “I was ordering a wooden leg for a man who lost it due to an untreated infection he got cleaning up _your_ bloody battlefield. He could’ve died.”

“I thought I told you to call me Draco.”

“You don’t deserve that, you hypocrite.”

“Hypocrite? How in Salazar’s name am I a hypocrite?”

“You treat people as subhuman when you people are the ones without a single ounce of humanity.”

“I don’t see why you’re wasting so much time on a muggle. He’s useless if he can’t work in the fields.”

“Useless? Is that really all you measure a man by?”

“Not a man, Granger. _A muggle_. How many times must I repeat myself?”

“You’re despicable.”

“Oh come one, Granger. Am I really? Your precious muggle friends are still alive because of me. You all still have your minds thanks to me. If it were up to my father or Tom _bloody_ Riddle, they’d all be a bunch of imperiused zombies like our soldiers.”

“Is that your moral high ground? You like to keep your _slave_ conscious enough to suffer?” She laughed incredulously.

“I’d be careful going that far, _mudblood_.”

Crookshanks hissed behind him, as if he’d understood the slur.

“Go away, vermin,” Draco spat, kicking his leg at the cat.

“Wait! Don’t hurt him,” she said, shoving his shoulder to the side and picking up the cat, hugging him closely to her breast even as he dug his claws into her shirt and arms.

“Is that your kitty? Not nearly as friendly as you are..” He chuckled upon seeing the cat's furious eyes. "My, he's just as swotty as you are."

“Let me get on my way, Malfoy. I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested.”

“Alright, we’ll play it slow. Could I get a kiss before we leave? Like the one we shared last Wednesday?”

She scoffed. “Absolutely _not_.”

Leaned in, nearly jeering into her nose as he promised, “I _will_ have you, Hermione Granger. Mark my words.” He stroked her chin gently before taking off again with the guards who had been blocking the alley.

Hermione used her scratchy wool cloak to try and wipe off the feel of his fingers on her throat and face, taking yet another calming breath, and, after making sure that he was out of sight, continued on her way back to the infirmary.

When she got back, she found that a little house with a bed and wreath had been placed beside the infirmary doors. Hermione pointed to the house and tried to place the furious cat on the ground. His claws stuck in her cloak. She wondered if he was punishing her or just didn’t want to leave her side after that encounter.

“Look at this lovely house someone made for you. I’m sure it was our lovely friend Hannah,” she stroked the cat as he twitched his tail and explored the little house. “You can keep me safe from here. If what Hagrid said was right, you’ll be able to protect me just as well here as if you were inside.”

By this point the cat had laid down and was yawning at her. Still, Hermione had a feeling that he’d understood every word she’d said.

_Gods bless this cat,_ she thought before she opened the door to the infirmary and headed in.


	13. A Will as Strong as Elm Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Voldemort  
> Is THIS what passes for LGBTQ+ representation? (Just wait, there will be non-fetishised intimacy and not only gay men)  
> An opportunity for espionage  
> A miraculous recovery  
> I am in no way a medical student, nor am I willing to do ten minutes of physiotherapy research, apparently. But hey, medieval times and the suspension of disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> I'm starting school now, so I will be updating once a week, if not once every other week, or really whenever I can within these constricts. I'm taking a few upper-level English courses, so I'll have at least four if not five hours of reading every week with classes and a part time job.   
> For those that are made anxious by unreliability, rest assured I have an ending for the story. I think another twenty or so chapters will do, if I keep up with the ~2000 words/2/3 actions-per-chapter pattern. I have a rough timeline of major events made up, so even if it gets away from me, I can find my way back.
> 
> P.S. Tom Riddle doesn't have the name of Voldemort yet, I think, or at least Hermione doesn't know it, so feel free to replace him with Jim Carey's Riddler or your favourite interpretation of the character! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Enjoy!

When Hermione returned to Mr. Cooper’s Coopery with Crookshanks that afternoon, she made sure to take a better look at her surroundings. She made her way slowly to the workshop, walking around the aisles of crates and caskets like she was simply browsing the man’s wares. She did not see anything that resembled war catapults or any of the war machines she’d read about in the showroom. She heard voices in the back, however, and decided let her curiosity take her. She scoped out a place near the workshop entrance where she could listen to what was being said without being found out. Luckily she was in a _mildly_ disorganized cooper’s showroom and was able to find some barrels to hide behind.

She nearly jumped into her chosen hiding spot when she recognized one of the voices in the room. Chills erupted in gooseflesh on her body, raising the hairs on her arms and most likely everywhere else.

“. . . estly, the schematics shouldn’t be so hard for an _expert cooper_ such as yourself to understand,” Tom Riddle chided in his voice of voices turned hoarse from screaming.

“These schematics move. They’re laced with magic. I can’t access the full instructions without a magical imprint,” Mr. Cooper pleaded.

“Then I suggest you find a mage apprentice.” Riddle said coldly.

“No! I will _not_ taint my practice with cheap magic!”

“Are you so proud, you parhetic muggle? I can fix that. Crucio!” Riddle said, cold and calm.

Hermione winced at the sound of Mr. Cooper’s agonized screams. She wanted so badly to jump out and protect Mr. Cooper, but knew that she was no match for Tom Riddle, especially if he had backup. A loud thud sounded when Riddle was done torturing the poor tradesman.

“Find an apprentice mage who will aid you in the construction tomorrow, or _I'll_ find someone, and you won’t like who I choose. If it’s not done in two weeks’ time I will kill your husband. In front of you. Slowly,” he hissed.

Riddle walked quickly, quietly up the workshop stairs. Hermione pressed herself to the barrels she hid behind, heart pounding in her chest. To her astonishment he walked right past, unaware of her presence. A few moments later once she was sure he was gone, she eased herself up, rubbing the knees which had fallen asleep while she hid and brushing off saw dust and slivers of wood from the skirt of her dress. She stumbled to the workroom on legs tingling with pins and needles trying to resist her commands.

Mr. Cooper was sitting on the bench beside the long piece of wood he’d been sanding earlier. His shoulders were shaking, his breathing shallow and rushed.

“Mr. Cooper,” Hermione said quietly so as to not alarm the man.

“Miss Granger,” he said, sniffling and wiping his red eyes. “I was wondering when you’d be coming back. The crutch and prosthetic are done, by the way.” Mr. Cooper walked around the workshop to find the crutch and leg he’d made for Mr. Finnigan.

It was made of beautiful grey elm wood. The top had bands nailed in that would hold the leg to his knee, and a cushioned bowl at the top of the leg that would fit around the knee joint comfortably. The foot was rounded just like any man's save for the lack of toes. 

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Cooper.”

“Thanks, Miss Granger. Now, this should get him through a few winters, but just to be sure, here’s a list of instructions for its maintenance. For example, it should never be worn without a boot. Even with the sanding and staining, the dirt and sand and moisture in the ground will grind away at it until it becomes rough and cracked and unusable. I also highly recommend that Mr. Finnigan wears a sock on his leg so that the straps don’t cut into his skin too badly. Of course, bruising and scaring from constant wear will happen, _but_ we can keep it from getting too damaged with the sock. I’m sure his wife will appreciate that if he’s ever granted visitation.” He handed her the false leg, the crutch, and the sheet of parchment with the instructions on how to care for the leg.

“I’ll find an apprentice for you, Mr. Cooper. They’ll be over tomorrow morning,” Hermione assured the man. “They’ll be worthy learners of your expertise.” She gave him a deep look as she gave him the ten galleons he was owed.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Mr. Cooper whispered.

~~~

“I’ll be out in a couple hours, Crookshanks,” Hermione said to her cat as he laid down in the little house he’d quickly become quite fond of. She leaned the crutch beside the house to open the door before propping the heavy door open with her foot to allow her to take the crutch again and slip into the infirmary.

“Isn’t that beautiful?” Mr. Bonham said, walking over from where he had been measuring herbs to appreciate the wooden leg. Hermione held him out to take a closer look. “Elm, yes? Mr. Cooper must have had a time and a half with this foot. How did he finish it so soon?”

“I’m starting to think that Mr. Cooper’s not as anti-magic as he’s always said,” Hannah added with a laugh.

“Oh do come _on_ , Granger. Mr. Finnigan’s been waiting for his leg for hours,” Madam Pomfrey groaned from the corner of the hallway.

Mr. Bonham handed the leg back quickly. Hermione followed her superior to Mr. Finnigan’s room, brushing off the wet snow flakes that had begun to fall that afternoon.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” Mr. Finnigan greeted when he saw her enter the room. “Is that?”

“It is. Mr. Cooper made it special for you,” Hermine confirmed. She handed the leg to the man. He leaned it over his lap, running his hand over the smooth wood.

“It’s a much better shape than the original,” he laughed. “This’ll do perfectly. I’ll have to remember to give him my thanks.

“Is there any pain, Mr. Finnigan?” Madam Pomfrey asked, prodding at the bandages and unwrapping them with practiced efficiency.

The bandages revealed a neatly balled-up knee, skin brought together with Madam Pomfrey’s near-miraculous poultices and potions. If it weren’t for the faint stitch-lines that had been made by the joining of the two limbs, Hermione might not have known that he’d had a right shin at all. Hermione had come to understand the science and the magic behind the poultices, potions, and pastes that Madam Pomfrey used, but hers had never had the near-miraculous effects of her former mentor’s.

“Not too much, mainly some ghost itches, but you’ve done a marvelous job of removing what needed to be removed,” Mr. Finnigan said, raising and shaking his leg gently in the air.

“Well then, would you like to try on your new leg?”

“Would I ever?”

“Miss granger, go to the third drawer on the left and grab one of the large cotton socks,” Madam Pomfrey instructed. “Mr. Finnigan, if you wouldn’t mind raising your gown mid-thigh.”

Hermione did as she was asked and pulled a neatly folded ball of knitted cotton from the specified drawer. She handed it to Madam Pomfrey, who rolled the sock up Mr. Finnigan’s leg, all the while explaining how to do it and how to care for the sock.

Next, she pulled lined the leg up with his knee. The wooden socket fit around his knee like a glove. Madam Pomfrey had Hermione read the instructions on which order to buckle the straps, following the directions to a tee. She wrapped the leather and strapped the three buckles up his leg and let him do the one around his waist.

“You’ll want to do that over your tunic for daily use, maybe even over the waist of your trousers. If just your tunic and trousers is uncomfortable, you can go to Gladrags and ask for a waistband,” the healer recommended. “Accio railings,” she said summoning a set of wooden railings which she stuck with a spell near the bed, perpendicular to each other.

It had only been a couple days since Mr. Finnigan had been capable of some semblance of walking, but after a month of hard work and rough conditions, he had already endured his fair share of wear and tear.

“Would you like to try standing?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Is it not too soon?” Mr. Finnigan asked, looking down and rubbing his knee.

“Are you in any pain in the muscles, nerves, or bones?”

“No, as I said, just phantom itches, really. But do you think I’ll be able to support it? It won’t take me down, will it?”

“Why don’t we start with some leg lifts then, right here in bed?” Madam Pomfrey suggested. She knew her capabilities and had years of experience. Anyone who didn't know her would think her over ambitious, but despite Mr. Finnigan's skepticism Hermione knew that he would be able to stand if he believed in himself. “Of course, most of your movement with this leg will be vertical, it’s always good to build up strength when you’re well fed.”

Mr. FInnigan nodded and lifted and let his foot down according to the healer’s instructions. After two sets of lifts, he started to groan with the effort. He let his leg rest for a moment, panting slightly.

After a moment he motioned that he was ready to continue. “Alright, up, left, middle, right. Again, up, left, middle, right. . .”

That afternoon when Seamus, Dean, and Blaise came to do the checklist, Madam Pomfrey informed the young Finnigan that his father was recovering well, but that he wanted some privacy.

In the privacy of her own home that night, Hermione sent a letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt by floo, asking for him to find a young order member willing to take on the task of deciphering the schematics and living up to Mr. Cooper’s high expectations.


	14. A Confusing Nightmare is What this is!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare  
> Acceptance of fear  
> A challenge, or sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's another chapter!  
> Enjoy!

It seemed as though Ginny had been glaring at the ground ever since the Slytherins had taken over. She glared at the floor of the Burrow, the grassy fields surrounding it, and the dirt roads of Hogsmeade whenever she was required to leave her home. She was surprised there wasn’t a trail following her path. Of course, glaring at the ground was the only think she could do to keep herself from glaring at the muggle soldiers, the black cloaks, or the Sacred 28 present in Hogsmeade. Ginny wanted to fight, but the recent events of the battle had confused her and changed her. 

Another constant in her life was the nightmares she had about the battle and being pulled out of the vanishing cabinet. Of course Ginny had nightmares about all the men she murdered and all the limbs she dispatched, but these quick, near painless kills didn't hit her so hard throughout the day. Her adrenaline-rushed brain she hadn’t fully comprehended her part in killing the men who’d surrounded her, all she’d known was that these men wanted to destroy her way of life and that they were ready to kill her and her family for their masters. Now she distracted herself from thinking about whether these men had families, hopes, and dreams by glaring at the ground and forcing other less painful thoughts into her mind.

Being in the Hogsmeade Guard, she’s studied battle strategy and war history like the rest of her trainees. She’d learned that the wealthy lords and nobles often drove their people into poverty and then presented the promise of a better life with the Guard. She knew that nobles like this often had no noble intention with these pawns, that they used them only for their own gain. Fortunately for Ginny and most of the mages in the Hogsmeade Guard, she was too passionate about her home to become part of the Slytherin Mage Guard. Good of them to know she’d do more damage to them than to whoever they asked her to fight. Unfortunately that had led Ginny into a period of purposelessness. She was a smart young woman. She knew she’d figure _something_ out, but the ability to claim that she was recovering from battle wounds to put off figuring something out was waning. Those physical injuries were nearly all healed. She couldn’t stay at home doing nothing and avoiding her guilt, fear, and Harry forever. It was these scars in her mind that she and everyone else worried about. She knew that no one was really okay despite the order meetings and making the most of their situation.

Ginny hadn’t realized until after Ron’s murder how much she’d relied on her brother’s snoring to get to sleep. In fact, one of Ginny's earliest memories was of lying in her bed late at night, listening to Ron's breathing in her parents' stead, turning him into her nightly protection. Now her room was hauntingly silent. His ghost haunted her dreams most nights when she could get to sleep. For weeks she’d kept his bed as he’d left it, lumpy and unmade. When she woke up at night she’d look over and believe for a moment that the blankets were him, curled up and sleeping on his side. Eventually it became too sad to keep them like that, so she’d made the bed and slept with her back to it. She was tired of crying herself back to sleep.

_“Mum!” she cried, her voice echoing and gargled as if she'd said it underwater. The light around the hallway moved around like sun on the sand under shallow water. It reflected the fear and nausea that she was reliving._

_“Mum!” She cried out, afraid that she wouldn’t come, afraid that she would._

_“Not my dotty you bitch!” her mom cried in slow motion, flinging the spell with so much motherly rage._

_The world seemed to spin like the turning of a book page. She was in the Room of Requirement, being pulled along to the Vanishing Cabinet by her mother, who promised that everything would be okay._

_Ginny’d known that it wouldn’t, but hadn’t had the heart to tell her mum at that point. She followed along, hoping for a safe place, but knowing that it would only be temporary. Her mum held her as they stepped into the Vanishing Cabinet. It there was a brief dark silence then the coppery smell of blood. She was about to warn her mum when the doors burst open and men in rags and mismatching clothing snatched them, pulling them out roughly to the ground. Ginny wished she had her glave as she roared at the men and started kicking and punching, doing anything to keep them away._

_“Hey girly! Stop fighting or I’ll take a bite out of your mother!” one of the men yelled, turning Ginny’s attention away from the men she’d been swinging at and towards her mother, who was knelt on the ground, throat up, hands grasping the arms that pushed her down._

_Ginny was abruptly kicked to the ground. She yelped and landed on her hands and knees and scrambling over to her mum, who’d been let go and was struggling not to fall on her back. They were led to the large group of children._

_Dozens of men like the ones who’d pulled her and her mother out of the cabinet paced around the large group of children, elderly, and those untrained for battle. Ginny observed the Slytherin men and started to see the scars on their faces, necks, and other areas of exposed skin. She looked to her mum whose eyes grimly conveyed the same message,_ werewolves _. She saw the way many of the werewolves were looking at the children, the look could only be described in one word: hungry. Both her mum and dad had told her fables when she was a child. Many of the ones intended to keep her from straying too far from them included werewolves who preyed upon children, eating them or turning them. These stories often ended with the deaths of their family or their village. As a fearless young girl, Ginny had always stood up on her bed at the end of the story and vowed that she’d protect her family from werewolves. In fact, she’d had dreams about becoming a werewolf hunter for the longest time._

_Looking at them now, she knew it had been a fool’s dream. She hadn’t known that werewolves lived in such large packs._

_“I’m starving, Fenrir,” one of the more finicky werewolves said, “Can I have just one?”_

_The man he’d referred to glared at what must have been his underling before looking over the children. He was a handsome man, probably in his early thirties with long hair loosely tied back. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and wild. “Hello, children,” he said in a mockingly friendly voice. “Raise your hand if you’re a mage.” None of the children did as they were asked. “Raise them!” he bellowed._

_A couple hundred children raised their shaking hands._

_“Thank you,” he leered. “You can take the others.”_

_The group of captives erupted in chaos as children jumped up and ran. Adults tried to jump in the way, but the werewolves were too agile. The children's terrified shrieks were like nails on stone right in Ginny's ears. She cringed, wanting to burry her head in the dirt and ignore it all, or kill every last one of these sons of bitches (pun intended). The werewolves swooped in like hawks, each plucking a child up and dragging them away from the group to snap their neck and start feasting on their twitching bodies. Ginny's eyes latched onto one child to her left in particular, one whose breathing was so fast, but whose eyes were so dead from shock. Suddenly the child's body turned into Ron's, his dead eyes staring at her as the werewolf ripped open his stomach and riffled through his stomach for the appetizing organs. Ginny gasped in horror before getting up and jumping on the offending lycanthrope. She batted at him, twisting her leg around his own to take him down to continue pummeling him. She found a rock nearby and reached out to grab him before continuing to bash in his skull until the remnants of his face, the ground around him, and her own front was covered in his hot blood, yelling savagely as she did so._

_When it was done she was glad her hair was tied up. She would have hated walking around with blood soaked hair. She snapped back with a yank of the back of her head. She turned around, grabbing her braid to see the Fenrir man holding the other end, looking at her with a grit-toothed grin._

_“That was my friend, poppet.” He pulled her closer, speaking to her nose to nose. “Don’t think you’ll be let off it so easy.” He licked a streak of blood on her cheek._

_Ginny grimaced, spitting in his face. Pain erupted on her cheek as she was slapped to the ground. She scrambled back as the werewolf straddled her. He held her right arm down while he lowered himself to her throat, taking a deep and calculating sniff to make her uncomfortable. She squirmed and bucked, trying to get him off of her. She heard her mum’s panicked cries, shouting at the werewolf to get off of her. She tried to calm down her breathing as she continued to beat his back with her left fist. “I’d be very careful what you do next. Do you want to end up like one of those muggle mutts over there? Or. . . if you’re aiming to become my bitch I can arrange that as well.” His hot, wet tongue slid along her throat, brushing over her pulse point. She felt revulsion knot in her stomach. “Either way, any more trouble from you and you won’t be seeing your dear mum again.”_

_Ginny glared at his excited eyes. As much as she wanted to turn the tables and fight every last one of these men, she didn’t want to lose anyone. She didn’t want any more children to die because of her actions, so she nodded, slowly lowering her fist to the ground._

_“That’s a girl,” he leered, pressing a wet kiss to her bloody forehead._

Ginny woke up after that, neck soaked with sweat, heart pounding. It was still very dark outside, but she knew that she’d never get to sleep after that nightmare. She never could after revisiting Fenrir Greyback. He and his pack roamed around the border now, making sure to punish anyone who tried to run. When Slytherin had first taken over there had been quite a few runners, but they’d either been killed in the woods, turned by him, or brought back to suffer the same fate as Ron. It had only taken about two weeks for the simple and elaborate escape attempts to stop. She wondered what they were doing for food now. She feared the worse and tried to pull herself from such thoughts. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself before pulling her tights on and slipping her long blue cote over her chemise. She crept quietly down the creaky wooden stairs. She heard someone turn over when she took the first step, but it did not deter her. If they were worried, she’d send a message over the floo. Once at the door, she slipped her fur boots on and put her hood over her head, adjusting the neckline so that it wouldn’t pull the collar in on her neck and choke her.

Once out in the bitter cold, Ginny balled up her fists and swung her arms stiffly as she walked. She huffed and puffed foggy air in front of her, furious at all that she’d lost, furious at herself for letting a werewolf scare her. The tall grass rustled around her, the snaps and crunches alerting any nearby nocturnal creatures of her presence. She wasn’t trying to sneak around like she had when she and her brothers had played hide-and-go-seek in these grasses as children. She’d gotten so many cuts from dried blades of grass as a child; she was surprised they hadn’t left scars.

The bridge that connected the Burrow to the rest of Hogsmeade emitted a soft thud after each of her footsteps. Frogs silenced as she made her way over their foggy stream. It was not yet cold enough for them to freeze and hibernate. 

She walked through main street, briskly passing shop after shop, wanting to run away, but fearing the crazed beady eyes and pungent breath of Fenrir Greyback. She noticed that there was a light on at the end of the road. She walked to it, curious as to why anyone else was up at this point. It was Cooper’s Coopery.

“Alohamora,” she whispered, flicking her wand at the door. It clicked open, allowing her to swing it the rest of the way. She entered quietly, not wanting to startle the barrel-maker. She walked quietly through the store, wand at the ready as she made her way to the workshop at the back.

“Mr. Cooper?” she asked when she found him sitting hunched over on his work bench, head in his hands.

His head snapped up to look at her, eyes red, face filled with fear, surprise, and rage. “What do you want, Weasley?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“Nothing, I’m just out on a walk. Trying to clear my head. What are you still doing up?”

He looked around for a moment before patting the spot beside him and confiding in her. “I’ve been hired—well, not _hired_ per say, more like forced—by the King’s hand to build a sort of war machine. He said that if I. . . If I didn’t build it,” he said, thickly and slowly, taking shuttering breaths. Ginny wanted to rub his back and help him get through it, but she didn’t. “He’d kill my husband. I can’t do it though. It has a fucking magical imprint. I need a mage to help me decipher an essential part of the plans and I need them by the end of the day, but you know how I am. I’m sure no mage would help me after what I’ve said about you people.”

It was true that most mages would be very reluctant to help him. Mr. Cooper had said that he’d never accept a mage as a student. Ginny understood to a degree. It was his trade, and if magic users learned the tricks, then they’d be able to build more efficiently than a muggle and as such would be able to get more customers. If this were anywhere but Hogsmeade he’d have already been out of business. Still, as a member of the Order, Ginny saw an opportunity here to benefit their cause.

“Why hasn’t the King’s Hand or one of his men just deciphered it for you, then?”

“I. . . I don’t know. But I think it must be dangerous if they’re not willing to do it themselves.”

“When have they asked this to be done by Mr. Cooper?”

“They gave me two weeks three days ago,” he answered in a hollow voice.

“Well,” Ginny forced out. “I guess you haven’t got long then.” She’d have to floo Kingsley Shanklebolt and call an emergency Order meeting. Unfortunately it was too dangerous to congregate during the day, so there might be attendance issues. Maybe Mr. Shacklebolt could come over and help remedy the situation.

“Mr. Cooper, Miss Weasley,” the very Order leader said at the workshop door. “I got Hermione’s Floo message. Is everything alright?”

“We’re figuring things out. Is that what brings you here at three in the morning?” Mr. Cooper asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Shacklebolt said in embarrassment, fidgeting with the black fur lining his shimmery blue coat. “I woke up a while back and had a feeling like I must go to see you at this moment. I thought it would have something to do with young Granger’s message.”

“Well, you’re right. We were just discussing the plans,” Mr. Cooper grumbled as he folded up the plans and reached them out for Kingsley to take. “They need a magical imprint, some sort of spell to bring it all together or whatever.”

Kingsley took a moment to read what he could of the instructions. “So much silver. . .” he said, pacing around. “Did you know, Mr. Cooper, that silver is a magical amplifier?”

“Of course, metal working's in the name.”

“That’s good, then. I think that the Slytherins might be employing you to make a sort of magical amplification device.”

“Then the magical imprint, that could be the person to activate it?” Ginny asked. “The one to use it. . . Then why,” she said slowly, “would they want one of us to activate it?”


	15. Doctor! Doctor! Give Me the News! Okay, but Give Me Some Space, for Merlin's Sake!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clap* Do it for the pun  
> Clap* Do it for the onomatopoeia (orage means thunderstorm in French)

It only took Mr. Finnigan a few days to start getting the hang of walking with his new wooden leg. He had figured out what distribution of weight was most comfortable to him and had even begun relying more on the crutch than the railings. Madam Pomfrey told him and Hermione that he’d be fully functioning by the end of the month. Once a week the two healers stayed late so that Mrs. Finnigan could have a chance to see her husband after her son had left. While Hermione would never condone getting injured for attention, especially to such an extreme degree, she was glad that the Finnigans were able to be partially reunited during this time.

One early November day as Hermione was delivering Mr. Finnigan’s lunch and having a little chat there was a commotion out in the clinic area. Hermione excused herself to see what was going on and if she was needed. When she turned the corner an odd sight greeted her.

Prince Malfoy stood at the center of the chaos, cradling his wrist. Around him Mr. Bonham, Hannah, and two green-hemmed-cloaked men chased Crookshanks. The two from Slytherin were even swinging their wands and shouting jinxes and hexes and causing all sorts of mayhem trying to catch the _orange orage_. Her cat blazed around the room, pouncing under tables and stools, weaving between everyone’s feet. Madam Pomfrey was just about having a fit, yelling, “Get this vermin out of here!” and “Catch it!” and apologizing profusely to the prince, claiming that this was not how _her_ infirmary usually ran.

A second later, it seemed that the storm had calmed and all eyes, round and slit had turned to her. Even the papers fluttering about seemed to slow down as the attention turned from the cat to his mistress. Crookshanks turned in his path to bolt to Hermione and leap into her arms, rubbing his soft head on her shoulder as Madam Pomfrey stormed at her, followed by Prince Malfoy.

“Miss Granger!” she said accusingly. “What _in Merlin's name_ is that cat doing in the infirmary? I thought we made an agreement that it would stay _outside,_ ” she said as if the cat could understand her. While Hermione believed it, she knew from the way that the cat licked its chops and yawned that he wouldn’t care if he could.

“As did I,” she said, stroking the cat’s ears. “I’ll put him back outside at once.”

Madam Pomfrey gave her a look that said, _Oh you’d best be doing that yeah_. Hermione needed no more encouragement to shove past the prince and exit the infirmary.

Hermione sat down on the cold wooden porch for a moment as Crookshanks folded himself in the little house. “Thanks for the protection, Crookshanks. You’re a very good guard cat.” She smiled before giving him a quick head-scratch, standing, and re-entering the infirmary.

The prince and Madam Pomfrey were still standing where the head healer had confronted her.

“Miss Granger, I don’t know why he’s being so particular, but his Highness wants to be treated by you in particular. It appears he has an issue with his wrist. You’ll treat him in private room three.”

“P-Private room three?” Hermione protested. “He hardly needs to strip for a wrist injury.”

“He’s the crown prince, _healer_ ,” one of the prince’s guard stepped up imposingly, pointing his wand at her. Hermione recoiled and threw her hands up defensively. “I’d think that much is enough for special consideration.”

“Alright. Follow me, then.” She led the prince and his guards around the corner and down the hall, passing Mr. Finnigan who was standing between the railings. He gave her a worried look as she passed him.

She opened the door for the prince when they reached room three. She waited for the guards to come through as well, but they gestured for her to enter and positioned themselves around the door frame.

“So, what seems to be the issue, Your Highness?” she asked, approaching the cot he’d sat himself on.

“It seems I’ve broken my wrist during training today. Unfortunately my healer’s taken ill today and isn’t able to serve me.”

Hermione frowned at that, suspecting fowl play. “Let’s see what the issue is. Hold out your wrist please.”

He did as she asked, pulling out the faintly swollen joint. She stepped closer and felt his soft wrist and the rougher, callused palm of his hand before doing a scan with her wand. Indeed, it was broken. “It seems you cracked your Capitate,” she said, tapping the area where the bone was found gently. “Mind telling me what happened while I look for a treatment?”

“Sure, Granger. I was practicing my muggle combat techniques today. Yes I’m a pureblood descended from angels, but even I acknowledge that brutal muggle combat is effective. So, I was sparing with my tutor with dull swords and he hit my wrist.”

“Shouldn’t he be more careful, seeing as you’re the prince?”

“My father told him to never pull his punches, or swings in this case.” He changed his voice to one deeper and somehow more aristocratic than his own. “How am I to become a respected king if a filthy muggle can defeat me with their simple ways?”

Hermione frowned, not wanting to answer that. Suddenly her own wrist was taken by the prince’s good hand. He yanked her forwards, between his open legs. He captured her shoulders with his arms and pulled her close, whispering into her ear, “You know, Granger. I’m glad I could see you today. There’s so much I’d like to talk about. So why don’t you take your sweet time finding that treatment? Give us a few minutes to ourselves?”

Hermione wished that a solution would pop magically into her head. None came. In fact, Hermione was struggling with a way to push him off without alerting the guards. If she made too much noise or injured the prince further, she didn’t know what might happen to her. “Let me go, Malfoy,” she grit out over his shoulder.

He just hummed and pulled her closer, burying his nose in her curls. Her neck tingled as he sniffed. “Mmmm, still more tender than my mother will ever be.”

“Stop. Just,” she pushed, “stop!” She shoved herself away from him, pushing his back onto the bed as she did so. She took a step back and strode to the bookshelf, plucking down the tome on bone healing. She found the remedy she needed and started a fire, readying a cauldron and preparing the ingredients for the terrible Skele-Grow potion. She was so focused on preparing the ingredients and going over the process in her head that she didn’t notice the prince watching over her shoulder until he wrapped his arms around her waist and put his chin on her shoulder, saying, “I love seeing you at work. You get so absorbed in it.”

“Get off of me, Malfoy,” she growled, rolling her shoulders and putting scarab beetles in a mortar to ground down. He stayed on, however, reaching at ingredients to see what they were.   
  


“Skele-grow, then. I’ve had my fair share of this bloody dreadful stuff in the past.”

“That’s great,” she said impatiently. She wanted to get this whole interaction over with. She and Harry and Ginny were meeting over lunch.

“Come on, Granger,” the prince persisted, turning her towards him. Hermione tried not to spill the beetle bits she had in the mortar and pestle. Draco took them from her hands with his good hand and crowded her into the counter. “Where did that kiss go? The one that’s making that blush crawl up your appetizing neck.”

Hermione brought her hands up to her neck, trying to cover the incriminating blush. She thought of Fred, of Oliver Wood, of _Ron_ , anything to get rid of it and restore her anger. She thought of using Snape’s curse again, but decided against it. For all she knew he was dead serious, and with Harry coming over, she couldn’t risk angering him.

“That’s it,” he whispered sensually. “Give me a moment of your time.” He brought his face close to hers, taking a breath of anticipation before bringing his lips to hers again. It was a bruising, forceful kiss. The prince was taking, _demanding_ her. He wrapped his arms around her, carefully holding his injured hand as still as he could. His good hand pulled her deeper into him. Hermione struggled to breathe through her nose which was squished up against his own. The prince’s good hand moved lower and lower to her buttocks, giving it a good squeeze and causing her to gasp and open her mouth. He drove his tongue into her, tasting her tongue, her lips, and very nearly her throat. It was too much having her mouth invaded and her butt held in his hands. It was humiliating to be held in such a possessive manner by the prince who'd ruined the lives of those she loved. 

Hermione bit down gently on his tongue in warning but getting the opposite result. He held her tighter, moaning and attempting to lift her onto the table. She squeaked in panic before really biting down. He yelled in surprise, releasing her and glaring down at her.

“How dare you?” he roared, bringing up his bad arm to slap her. She was about to protest and point it out when he backhanded her. Her head shot to the right, the force of the slap causing her to brace herself on the table. The prince cried out, cradling his wrist which was no doubt more broken than ever. She wished she could just leave him here to suffer with his broken bone. The thought of hurting him, of maybe even killing him crossed her mind just before the guards rushed in, yelling for their prince as they took in the situation, the lack of distance between the prince and the healer. Of course she couldn't kill him. They'd have her and her people demolished. 

“You slut!” one of the guards yelled. “How dare you seduce His Highness?”

“Just fix him up and have the job done,” the other growled. “You Highness, if you would take a seat on the cot.”

The prince followed his guard to the cot and watched her, framed by the two cautious guards as she continued the brewing process. She could feel their eyes boring into her as she worked. She wished that she could have left while the potion bubbled for twenty minutes, but preoccupied herself with reading the instructions again and again and refreshing her memory on other healing potions. She heard a quiet _meow_ from outside the window. Crookshanks stayed and meowed during the rest of the prince’s stay. She could hear how he yearned to protect her. She wished she could open the window and let him comfort her.

When she turned back to the prince with the completed potion, he was looking amused at the window as if enjoying the cat’s misery at hearing his mistress in need but being unable to help her.

“Very loyal for a cat,” he commented with a smirk.

“You must not know cats then.” She handed him the Skele-Grow and took her notes of time, patient, and quantity of potion. She stayed with him in awkward silence as they waited for the potion to work. She was grateful for the guards being there to stop him despite their insults and intimidation. Every ten minutes she asked him to rotate his wrist. After five rotations he’d regained about eighty percent mobility, so she marked the time down and released him.

“Until next time, Miss Granger.” He took her hand and pulled her towards him, giving it a lingering kiss and exiting the room. One guard gave her an odd look while the other showed one of warning before they turned after him. Once they’d left, Hermione shuttered, taking a moment to hold herself. She felt violated but she needed to move on with her day. She didn’t want anyone to suspect what was happening. It was manageable because he wanted her willing. With a final shaky breath Hermione cast a cleaning spell and reorganized the ingredients she’d used before leaving the private room herself.

~~~~~~~~~

Of course the first thing Harry had to notice was Hermione’s bruised lips and cheek. Sure she hadn’t thought of casting a healing charm on herself, but she hadn’t thought they were as bad as Harry was making them out to be.

There they stood in front of the infirmary, Harry holding Hermione’s chin and gently tilting it to give him a better look at her.

“Blimey, Hermione,” Harry groaned, adjusting his glasses irritably and putting his hands on his hips. “The next time I see that weasel I’ll teach him a lesson about touching you like that. Touching you at all.” He winced and tugged at his collar, but apparently the threat wasn't enough to trigger a full on crucio attack. 

“Come on, Harry, it’s not so bad. A bruise is nothing compared to what my parents are going through. Can we get to lunch now? Ginny’s probably just as hungry as we are.” Hermione brushed past Harry, pushing the topic aside as well.

Unfortunately Harry wouldn’t let it go, the lovable overprotective young man. “I know that his interest in you is good for information and all, but think of the long term effects. Don’t you remember Moaning Myrtle?”

“I’m _not_ going to drown myself because of a man. And she killed herself because of unrequited love, not because of harassment. I’ll just purge him from my mind when this is all over.”

Harry hesitated for a moment. “What if it’s never over, ‘Mione?” What if we’re just stuck like this for good?” He sounded so helpless.

“Harry, are you alright?” she asked, stopping him and turning him towards him, grabbing his arms and stroking her thumbs over the fabric of his jacket. “We will get through this,” she whispered, “the Marauders are working on foreign assistance. Even without them, once those snakes get comfortable all we’ll have to do is catch ‘em by surprise. I give you five years tops.”

"Five years still feels like forever." He gave her a gentle smile before continuing on to Cooper’s Coopery where Ginny had started a new apprenticeship.


	16. The Web that Binds Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione confides in Ginny and Harry and finds Mr. Finnigan a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, long time no see!   
> It's been busy here on my end. Thank you for your patience.   
> I regret killing Ron. I think that his death is too much for Hermione to move past concerning Draco. He will get a bit of a redemption arc because karma's a bitch, but I can't see them getting together. Don't worry. There is plenty of Romance in store for Hermione. I'll introduce her next love interest in the next chapter.   
> As always, enjoy!

All Hermione wanted for her lunch break was to catch up with Ginny and talk about her new apprenticeship. She smiled when she saw her friend leave the cooper shop. Hermione’s eyes stung a little when she saw that Ginny had a smudge of ash on her nose much like Ron had as a boy.

“Hey guys.” Ginny greeted Hermione with a hug and Harry with a kiss on the cheek, grabbing his hand and turning them down the way in the direction of her boyfriend's home.

“Hi Ginny,” Harry said, wiping at his girlfriend’s smudgy nose with a dopey smile.

“How was your first day?” Hermione asked, unable to hold in her curiosity.

“It was pretty good. I learned about all of the tools of the cookery, I have to learn how to use and clean them all without magic,” Ginny groaned. “Mr. Cooper’s threatened to lock away my wand for the day if he sees me using it.”

“So it’s true what he says about him?” Harry asked.

“Very,” Ginny laughed. “I’ll tell you a bit more about it later. How’s Mr. Finnigan doing, by the way?”

“He’s recovering really well. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey’s near miraculous work, he should be ready for release in a couple days. Of course we’ll try to stretch it to the end of next week,” Hermione informed them. “Harry, do you think your mom could find a job for him? Nothing too labour-intensive, but maybe something that’ll keep him from the fields?”

“I’m sure she can arrange something. You can ask her over lunch, though. She’ll know better than me. I do agree that she could use some help, however. Yule’s got her quite wound up,” Harry responded.

Hermione nodded. In the corner of her eye she caught sight of a platinum blond head. She flinched and slowed her pace slightly, moving to walk slightly behind her friends to avoid what she thought was the prince. Her heart picked up and her breath caught in her throat. Unconsciously, she grabbed hold of Ginny’s arm and squeezed it tight. After a moment she looked over in the direction of the platinum blond hair she’d seen and saw with relief that it was not in fact the prince. It was just Fleur Weasley exiting _Dogweed and Deathcap_ , probably buying ingredients for Bill’s monthly potion.

“Hermione?” she heard distantly. “Hermione, are you alright?”

Hermione waved absently in response to Fleur’s smile and wave from across the street.

“Hermione?” the distant voice said again. Hermione snapped out of her anxious daze to meet Ginny’s eyes.

“Yes. I’m fine,” she stuttered. “Just thought I saw someone is all.”

“It’s probably Malfoy,” Harry said, irritably. Hermione shot him a glare.

“What?” Ginny fumed. “Is he bothering you? I thought you said it was under control at _dinner_ last week.”

“I thought it was,” Hemrione admitted. She couldn’t lie to her friend. “He confides in me alright. Useful, exploitable information too, and at first I could go with it. It was a bit exciting, kissing the prince who holds us, I guess. Merlin what is wrong with me?” Hermione put her face in her hands as the three friends turned onto Harry’s street. Hermione felt Cruikshanks brush up against her legs.

“Nothing is wrong with _you_ , Hermione. Please go on if you can,” Ginny said.

Hermione didn’t know how much more she could tell Ginny before she threatened the prince again and set off her collar. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. He killed Ron. He killed Fred. He killed Lavender. He’s enslaved my parents. This isn’t some romance novel. Even if by some miracle I can soften him up, it doesn’t change what he’s done. It doesn’t change who he is, and we don’t know if it’ll change what he might do to us.” Hermione’s stomach sunk, she felt heavy with despair. She knew that everyone available was doing what they could to fix the situation and get the slytherins out, but it all seemed so hopeless. The slytherins had taken _the entire continent_. They had control over all of the armories, the banks, the trade, immigration and such. “Most of all, he’s such a wildcard. He’s got the worst mood swings. I honestly don’t know what sets him off.”

“Is that what happened today?” Ginny breathed.

Hermione took a shuttering breath. “He crowded me while I was preparing the Skelegro. He kept pushing and pushing for my attention. Then he kissed me, _touched me_ ,” she spat out in disgust, “and held me tighter when I resisted. I’m not sure we can change such a . . . a . . .” _What_ was he? A man? A monster? Something in between? Hermione couldn’t say for sure. The only thing she knew was that he was a product of his upbringing whether he was resisting some parts of it or not. She’d read about men like him in many of her books. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever change. _Why did she still hope he would?_

“Breathe, Hermione,” Harry said. Hermione could hear the alarm in his voice even as he tried to calm her down. This was not like her.

She followed Harry’s example and breathed in through the nose and out through the mouth. Hermione wondered distantly if it was possible to grip Ginny any tighter. It took eight deep breaths before she could unlatch herself from her friend. She and Ginny checked the damage. Five red crescents had been dug into her arm. Pink finger marks led from them. Hermione hoped that they wouldn’t bruise. Ginny pulled her sleeve down gingerly. Hermione knew she'd suffered worse, but it didn't make her feel any less guilty about it.

“I-m so so-“

“Don’t bother, ‘Mione. It’s not your fault,” Ginny tried to comfort her. “You’re lucky I’m trained and used to this sort of thing, otherwise I might not’ve forgiven you so quickly. Let’s give ourselves a break and get some grub in us.”

_Finally_ , a statement she agreed with. She wished she could pretend that none of this was happening. She’d _have to_ if she didn’t want to make it her whole life.

Lily Potter smiled warmly at everyone when her son and his friends entered the house. It warmed Hermione as much as the fire that snapped in front of Lily. Hermione smelled rabbit. _What a treat!_

“Hullo, Lily,” Hermione and Ginny greeted in sync.

“Hullo girls, come in, get your coats off. It’s nearly done.” Lily turned the spit and the rabbit.

Hermione could see that it had been dressed with herbs. By _Merlin_ it smelled delicious. The last time Hermione had had rabbit was her birthday, right before the news of the attack.

“Rabbit?” Ginny exclaimed. “What’s the special occasion?”

“Two things, actually." She winked. James, Sirius and Remus must have been doing well in Beaubatons. "Least importantly, I was granted an extra three hundred Sickles for the winter celebrations to give it a,” she used hand quotations, “Slytherin flare.”

“Thank goodness green and silver are already part of the Christmas pallet,” Hermione joked.

“Yes, now all I have to do is incorporate a giant snake,” Lily said harshly, sliding the rabbit off of the spit. She started cutting when Hermione saw her opportunity.

“Maybe you could have some help. Mr. Finnigan will be released from the infirmary at the end of the week. We need an excuse to keep him from doing work that’s too physically taxing. Do you think you can find him a job?”

“Mr. Finnigan, you say? He was the barkeep, yes?”

“Yes,” Ginny confirmed with a smirk. Hermione had heard all about hers, Seamus’ and Dean’s late nights at his father’s pub. She could only imagine the hell they raised those nights, and, of course, the hellish hangovers they had when they cleaned up in the mornings under Mr. Finnigan’s careful watch.

“I suppose I need some help with catering,” she said, narrowing her eyes and nodding.

“Could you come over to the infirmary and talk to Zabini at the end of the day, then?”

“Of course, Hermione.” She handed Hermione a plate of rabbit and pea pottage. Once everyone had sat down, Hermione picked up her leg and tore into the tough meat. It was sweet, which made the excessive chewing needed almost pleasant as she pulled more flavour out with each bite. She listened excitedly to Ginny's account of her first moirning as a cooper as she ate. By the time she’d finished the leg her jaw had begun to tire, and Ginny had described a very productive, if not frustrating morning. 

When the scrapes of spoons and the clatter of bones slowed, everyone got up and put their scraps in the pig’s pen and made their way back to the main street.

~~~~~~~~

True to her word, Lily arrived at the infirmary a few minutes after Zabini, Dean and Seamus had begun their daily check-in.

“What brings you in, Mrs. Potter?” Madam Pomfrey asked, giving her a critical one-over.

“Oh, I’m not injured, thank you, Poppy. I’m actually here to see Sir Zabini on event-planning business,” Lily responded. 

Blaise looked up from where he sat reading the daily patient registry and gestured for Lily to come over to him. Hermione stood out of the way and watched the exchange along with Madam Pomfrey, Mr. Bonhamm and Hannah Abbot. 

“What business? You put your plan in two weeks ago.”

“I need a catering assistant.”

“A catering assistant?” Zabini seemed skeptical. 

“Yes. I’m feeling overwhelmed by the work ahead. I’ve only got a month left, my Lord, and I believe that having someone to take care of food preparation would help keep me on track.”

"Alright, I'll set you up with an assistant, then."

"Actually, I have an idea of who I'd like on my team."

“And who exactly do you have in mind for the task?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, to be honest, Mr. Finnigan was a barkeep before the battle. As you can see, he will not be much help in the fields with his prosthetic leg. In fact, returning him to the fields would probably kill him-“

“And why should I care about some muggle and his prosthetic leg?” He asked.

Seamus flinched. _How could Zabini talk about his lover’s father like this?_ Hermione wondered.

“Well, Mr. Finnigan catered me wedding and about a dozen of the events I’ve thrown over the years. He has good taste and knows the tastes of the people of Hogsmeade. There aren’t many here who know food as well as Mr. Finnigan.” Lily defended.

“I see,” Zabini tented his fingers and brought them to his lips as he thought. “And what will happen to him after the event has passed? We cannot have an unemployed Muggle sitting around.”

“We have many festivals here in Hogsmeade. Surely I’ll need his expertise on more than one occasion.”

“He’ll need to submit all of his plans to me, Mrs. Potter.”

“Of course.”

“And this will be a trial run. If it works, he stays. If not, then it’s back whatever work they give Muggles during the winter.”

“Thank you, Lord Zabini.”

“Remember this kindness, Mrs. Potter.”

“I will,” Lily said stiffly before going down the hall to Mr. Finnigan’s room to give him the news. A cry of joy could be heard through the walls.

“Back to work, Seamus,” Zabini ordered, slapping the patient registry on the table.

Seamus flinched and got back to weighing bottles of ingredients. He gave Hermione a grateful smile as he followed Zabini out of the infirmary.


	17. A Cog with Connections, Not a Lone Nut

Three days later, Mr. Bonham assisted Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan in moving the amputee back into his home. He thanked them graciously for their time and work as he left. Hermione missed his jokes and smile the moment he walked out the door. The healers only got a moment to mourn the loss of his company before their boss brought them back to the present and their present duties. They began making splints and cutting and rolling bandages in preparation for the icy season. Hermione knew to expect at least three dozen people to come in with ice-related injuries. She had no doubt they’d get more muggles in. She hoped she would she’d see her parents, but didn't at the same time. She couldn’t bear to see them come in bloody and broken. Then again, if her father sustained an injury that would keep him from working in the fields like Mr. Finnigan. . .

_No._

Hermione shook her head and unwound the bandage she’d messily rolled whilst deep in thought. She focused more on the task at hand. That was the best she could do. Focus on the moment, keep her hopes up, and wait for the aid that was no doubt coming.

Lilly Potter had gone above and beyond in enlisting the help of muggles in setting up for the Yule festivities. Every day Hermione passed at least twenty of her old neighbors on her way to and from work as they put bells, ribbons, garlands and glass on the street lamps and door frames. Hermione wondered how Mrs. Potter had gotten so much authority. _She’s Lily Bloody Potter,_ she reminded herself often. They looked worse for wear, but they smiled at her as she passed, and she took the time to greet and catch up with a couple each day. She didn’t ask about her parents. She didn’t want to seem like she was only trying to get through to them, but she her heart swelled during each conversation with hope that _someone_ would bring them up.

_It’s a numbers game,_ she reminded herself each day.

A few hours after Mr. Finnigan's release, Hermione was walking home for lunch when she noticed the lack of muggles and large number of Slytherin guards lining the street.

“Excuse me,” she asked one of the guards in green. “Where is everyone?”

“Drumstrang’s arriving soon," she responded gruffly.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, surprised. Drumstrang. They were the Slytherin’s largest out-of-continent allies. Hermione wondered what they were doing here. She knew it couldn’t be good.

Her bacon tasted too salty and her pea pottage like nothing much at all during her lunch. She honestly couldn’t focus on her meal. Her stomach turned and ached with nerves at what Drumstrang being here could mean. The Order had speculated, of course, but no one, not even Snape knew and if he did, he wasn’t letting them know. Hermione honestly still couldn’t tell which side he was on.

About halfway through lunch she decided to give up. If she went hungry later, she’d be hungry later. Right now she had no appetite at all. She tied a cloth over her bowl and put it on a shelf before heading back to the infirmary.

She didn’t make it long before she heard the thunder of boots in the distance. She walked a little further until they started to catch up with her before stepping to the side. A line of forty or so men in stiff wool coats walked down Main Street, all in sync, tapping their sparking canes as they walked. They all looked like they were carved out of stone, what with their chiseled jaws, crooked noses, and cold eyes. Hermione couldn’t decide if it would be better to meet their eyes assertively or to tilt her head down in submission, so she just stared ahead, looking towards them, but not following anyone in particular.

Still, she felt a pair of eyes linger on her. She snapped her own to meet the deep brown eyes that bore into her own. The man who’d caught her attention had a nose crooked from fighting like his compatriots and a strong, stubbly jaw. His eyes were surprisingly warm, his smirk playful. His the lapels of his coat were nearly completely covered with medals. Hermione held his gaze strongly, though her heart fluttered. She felt her features tighten and her hair stand on end.

An older man she hadn’t noticed brought his arm up to grasp the younger man’s shoulders and turn him back to the front. The young man steeled his face and turned back, not stumbling for a second. Hermione wondered how long he’d be staying. She hoped he'd be here a while for a number of reasons. 

She only left her position once they were well ahead. Back in the infirmary, news of the Drumstrang arrival was no longer news.

With Madam Pomfrey away for her afternoon tea, Hannah and Mr. Bonham had already begun speculating the purpose of their visit as they prepared hot pads to stave off hypothermia.

“What if they’re here to do some sort of muggle trade?” Mr. Bonham asked.

“Perhaps an arms deal?” Hermione offered, looking Hannah in the eye with meaning.

“Could be. . .” Hannah concurred, “But it must be more than that. Drumstrang is pretty much a military state as it is. We’ve all heard of the cold-hearted Tsars. What weapons could they possibly need from the Slytherins?”

“Maybe they’re not getting, but giving information, plans, or weaponry? They’re the winter experts, as we know. Since we’re also winter people, we’d have an advantage over the southerners,” Hermione suggested.

Mr. Bonham nodded, sliding his glasses backwards onto the crown of his head, pulling his dark brown curls from his face. “I guess we’ll just have to find out. Anyways I doubt that they’re just here to enjoy our Yule Festivities.”

“I guess it’s just one of the benefits of being friends with the conquerors,” Hannah quipped.

~~~~~~~~

GINNY’S POV

It had taken them some time, but Mr. Cooper and Ginny had finally come to understand the structure of the weapon’s frame. It was very solid. They’d had to cut down quite a few ash trees and had disassembled nearly a dozen barrels to have enough metal to assemble the base. They had just over a week to finish the great gourd-like funnel and make their deadline. Just before New Year’s.

Every day Ginny pondered the use of the machine. Her best guess was that it might shoot fire or something.

Ginny was working the forge the afternoon they arrived, heating up a length of bronze to make a ring for the funnel. She felt hot and claustrophobic. She’d hardly gone five minutes without scratching under her collar or adjusting it. It was far too hot and she wished more than anything that she could take it off. She heard the thunderous pounding of boots stepping in unison before she heard the posh accent of the prince, the rasping of his advisor and the throaty, lilting accents of foreigners. She’d never heard such accents before. Of course, the former voices were already enough to cause her to tense. She stared at the reddened bronze through her smoke-stained goggles and removed the metal from the fire, hammering the red hot bar into the curve she desired.

Too soon her mentor snapped her to attention. She removed the half-circle into a basin of water and pushed her goggles up. She tucked her gloves into her apron pocket as she followed Mr. Cooper to the front room.

The two Slytherins seemed too fine for the establishment. Their features were too delicate, their bodies too reliant on magic. While Ginny wouldn't go so far as to say that the prince looked weak, he was surely lean and she could no doubt take him in a fight. The other two, however, were more strongly chiseled. If it wasn’t for their clean faces and the immaculateness of their coats she’d believe that they could hold their own in a coopery or forge. She could see the younger man’s left hand tightly manicured fingers peeking out from his sleeve. He had large fingers. He seemed very large, though Ginny wouldn’t dare place him past twenty five. He seemed an oxymoron, what with his chocolate brown eyes framed with sharp lids and brows.

Ginny still couldn’t trust him, though she felt he meant no immediate harm, unlike Riddle who was already seething at having to be in the presence of a muggle.

“This is Mr. Cooper, the . . . cooper of Hogsmeade,” Riddle drawled lazily, “and his assistant.”

Both Ginny and Mr. Cooper hesitated for a moment before bowing under the glare of the advisor. Malfoy didn’t look directly at them, but rather disinterestedly around the shop. There were only so many unique barrels and boxes one could make before making them custom.

“They’re the ones responsible for making the machine,” he continued.

“Can we see the amplifier’s plans?” the older foreigner said with a thick voice.

“Of course. Cooper,” Malfoy gestured for Mr. Cooper to get the schematics.

Mr. Cooper angrily walked to the back room. If he wasn’t under duress, Ginny had no doubt that he’d be stomping, muttering, and spitting. Ginny waited impatiently with the imposers leaning back on one leg, arms crossed over her leather apron. When Mr. Cooper returned, he handed the folded paper to Lord Riddle with a short, curt bow of his head. The advisor snatched it and opened it for the other nobles to see.

“Back to work. We’ll call you when we need you,” Lord Riddle dismissed the cooper and his apprentice with a lazy wave of his hand.

Ginny replaced her goggles over her eyes as she walked back to her station. She slid the tough gloves back up to her elbows and grabbed the pincers to bring her crescent back to the fire to complete the circle. It took her another fifteen minutes until she welded the circle together. By this time, she was aware that she had an audience. The four foreigners watched her from the door frame as she brought the completed ring back to the fire to get to the finer work of etching in the runes she’d copied down from the schematics. Living red followed the tiny chisel she used to carve the symbols in. She could feel the magic through the heat radiating off the funnel. It flowed from her as if it were being pulled into the fire that burned beneath the air-cooled surface of bronze.

Ginny was not fond of this feeling. She felt too close to it all. She couldn’t read the runes, but she could feel that their magic was nothing good.

“Let’s have a look,” the prince said, sauntering past his advisor and gesturing for Ginny to step aside with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Ginny removed her mask and shuffled to the left. The windows had started to get smoke-stained, so she took a rag and wiped it as the men spoke. She watched from the corner of her eyes as they examined the schematics and compared it to the funnel ring. There was no clue given as to its purpose, nor compliment of her work from the two Slytherin nobles. 

“So this will really. . .” the older Drumstrang noble started, but illustrated his lapse in vocabulary with hand gestures. He cupped his hands in front of his chest and pushed them forward, expanding his arms as he did so. “Magic?”

Lord Riddle threw a suspicious and annoyed look at Ginny. She kept wiping the windows and pretending to ignore their private conversation as they spoke their dark purpose. “Yes it will.” He repeated the bearded man’s gesture.

“What range do you expect it to reach?” The drumstrang elder obviously thought very little of peasants and confidentiality. Ginny could imagine how they kept their power with all these secrets being passed around willy-nilly. Maybe he thought her insignificant, a nut in the system instead of a grooved cog that connected with several others, lone and replaceable.

“A hundred or so a piece,” Lord Riddle confided stiffly.

Ginny moved on to a window a few feet away to try and make him feel more comfortable. She hoped that he’d give the foreigners more information if he felt that he wasn’t being listened to. Of course, aside from Snape possibly being a double agent as Hermione had suggested, there was no reason for the foreigners to suspect that there was a resistance. Besides, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been very clear that there would be no action taken until the Marauders come back with back-up.


	18. Fragments and Festivities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is gearing up for the Yule festivities. Hermione heals a woman and in turn gets some information about her mum!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Yule everyone! The busiest part of my semester has passed, so I'll (unreliably [hey! I'm a fanfic writer doing this for fun!]) try and update more often than I have. And hey again, I've published more chapters than there are weeks in a year, I'm not doing to bad...  
> Thanks for sticking with me. It's been fun exploring this story, finding what plot points work (maurauders alive, Ginny) and what doesn't (killing Ron, contract and smut chapter [ugh]). No shame! Some regrets.   
> So, as always, enjoy!!

The envoy from Drumstrang had arrived only three days before Yule’s eve and the Yule Ball. There were to be two festivities happening simultaneously that day. There was the grander celebration hosted by the Slytherin nobles, to which the _higher ranking Hogsmeadians_ were invited. This included Mrs. Potter, Harry and Ginny, Madam Pomfrey, Severus Snape, the Diggorys, the Changs, and various other Hogsmeadians.

Hermione, Hannah, and Mr. Bonham only had to work the morning of Yule Eve. They sat in a circle, packing bags with bandages, splints, scissors and such to keep with them as they enjoyed the festivities. Their addresses would be posted on the infirmary door that afternoon so that no injured person would find themselves without help.

“Neville’s going to come pick me up at eight,” Hannah said for probably the fourth time. Her voice had no less excitement than the first time she’d told them a week ago. “I can’t wait for it to be eight. I don’t know what I’ll do without a thing to do from two to eight. I wish mum were here to help me dress.” She sighed and stuffed a few rolls of gauze into her bag.

“Simisola and I are going to be dressing our Abeni for her first Yule ball tonight. Last night we had such a time in the bath, combing our hair and getting it ready for Sola to work her magic. I can’t wait to see my girls,” Mr. Bonham added with a wide grin. “Sola hasn’t let me see her dress yet, she’s kept it locked away in the back of her closet. She’s always had a flair for the dramatics.”

Hermione’s heart clenched and she smiled, moved by Mr. Bonham’s excitement. She remembered her first Yule Ball vaguely. She’d spent much of the night hidden in her mum’s skirts, following her dance moves. Her father had lifted her in his arms and spun her around like all the other fathers and mothers had done with their children. She remembered the balls she’d spent with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, dancing wildly to the faster paced songs and spinning along with Ginny to keep her friend's eyes off Harry’s hands as they gently held Cho’s waist.

Hermione didn’t need to tell her colleagues that she’d just be mingling and making sure that everyone was alright.

As they reminisced and chattered excitedly of the night to come, the infirmary doors opened. In walked in two muggle women and a Slytherin guard. One of the women supported the other as she hobbled over to a cot. She didn’t sit down, but leaned forward and put her weight on her hands. The three healers dropped their bags and went over to the injured woman.

“What’s happened?” Mr. Bonham asked.

“She fell from a ladder and onto a pile of ornaments,” the woman who supported the injured woman spoke up. Everyone save for the guard winced.

“Alright,” Hannah said, “Hermione and I will take you to the back room and take a proper look.” She nodded at Hermione and gestured for her to take one of the injured woman’s shoulders.

When they got to the back room, Hermione took out one of the survey sheets and started noting down the time and injury. “What is your name, ma’am?”

“Camille Reed,” the woman said.

“And how did you get this injury?”

“I fell off of a ladder as I was dressing a Yule tree.”

“Do you have any allergies?”

“Fish and pollen.”

“How would you describe your condition before your injury? Are there any prior injuries or conditions we should be aware of?”

“My right ankle’s been sore for some time now. Not debilitating, but I do walk with a bit of a limp. Your father’s drained it of infection several times.”

Hermione paused at that and looked up at the woman who smiled in return. “How. . . How is he?”

“He and your mother are doing alright. They take care of us.”

Hermione felt a ball in her throat. She had a thousand questions to ask, but as long as this woman had glass in her butt she’d have to put them aside.

“Do you mind if we cut this skirt up and give you a new one? We’ll need to do that in order to get to the debris.”

“Of course. I've been meaning to get out to Gladrags', but I just haven't had the time," Camile joked bitterly. 

Hermione chuckled and made a mental plan of action.

Hannah took the scissors and cut the woman’s skirt to just below the butt, careful not to pull the part that was stuck to the skin with blood and shrapnel. Next, Camille was given a towel to cover her front with as Hannah cut the skirt off around the wound. She cast a numbing spell on the Camille’s bottom before taking a pair of tweezers and gently pulling at the bobble shards and pieces of laced metal from hooks and stars and such. Hermione put the survey down and joined in. Eventually they removed enough debris that they were able to peel off the bloody piece of skirt. They placed a bowl behind Camille and poured water over the wounds to clean it up. The water that dripped into the bowl was pink. Little bits and pieces floated at the surface of the water.

It took them an hour and a half, but eventually they were able to dig out all of the bobble bits. The two witches took a step back and brought their wands forward. “Episky,” they breathed in unison, pointing at the cuts and gashes on Camille’s rear. She hissed at the pain and itch of tissue being pulled, healed, and regrown. They kept their wands still until the skin was all healed and soft again. Hannah left the room and dashed to grab the bare woman a new skirt.

“Your mother’ll be serving mulled wine at the party tonight, in the dance hall at the square by Honeydukes,” Camille whispered. “Lily asked for her specifically.”

Hermione’s breath was once again caught as a ball formed in her throat. She coughed to try and clear it before letting out a gruff “Thank you.”

“No problem at all,” Camille smiled.

“Hermione, why don’t we give Mrs. Reed here some privacy?” Hannah said as she returned with the new skirt. It was made of tough wool and would last her a while, even during the harsh winter months.

Hermione nodded. “We’ll see you in the front room.” She picked up Camille’s chart and walked with Hannah back to the main clinic.

~~~~~~~~

Hermione did her best to pin her hair up in the style her mom always had on special occasions. She pulled her curls this way and that, seeing how they fell and framed her face. It all seemed too messy. She gave it a couple tries, but eventually gave up with a huff. With her hands shaking from nerves and her arms tired from being held above her head, she did a series of thin inverted ponytails. It left quite a bit of loose hair underneath to protect her neck from the cold. She also liked the romantic way the hair framed her face, of course. 

She gently dug through the chest which held their nicest pieces and gently riffled through the fine garments. Last year she had worn one of her mother’s older dresses, one that she’d worn before getting pregnant with her. Hermione decided that it would do again.

The deep purple fabric was soft, but stiffly structured to the desired shape. Hermione undressed and slipped the dress on, latching on a silver necklace with a bronze wreath charm. With a nod she strapped on the bag of medical supplies and sobriety potions and slipped on her cloak.

She was about to leave when she heard a yowl from her feet. She startled and lifted her foot, scared that she’d stepped on Cruikshanks’ tail. The cat’s tail was not under her foot, however, but was flicking irritably from side to side. He licked his chops and went over to the dish she’d put for him on the floor. It was empty. She’d forgotten to feed him.

Hermione sighed and made her way over to the salted salmon. She pulled out a small strip and placed it on the dish. “I’m sorry, Cruikshanks.” She folded her arms over her chest and leaned on the stone fireplace wall. Cruikshanks ate pettily delicately and took his sweet time. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh after a few moments and turned and rushed out the door, leaving the cat in her home.

“It’ll just be overwhelming for him anyways,” Hermione tried to convince herself as she made her way to the square where she was told she’d find her mother.

~~~~~~~~

Camille hadn’t been lying. Hermione saw her mum right away. Tears welled up in her eyes as she recognized her light brown curls, tied up with a string. "Mum!" she cried out as she rushed over, weaving around the table to take her in her arms, nearly sending the two of them toppling over in the process.

“Woah!” Her mum said, steadying them. “Who?” she asked before her voice wilted with shock. Hermione felt her pet her head, recognizing the dark curls she and her husband had given their only daughter.

Hermione felt a familiar flutter in her stomach as her mum squeezed her back. She felt safe and right and overwhelmingly happy. She couldn’t put it into words. She was _at a loss for words_ as tears streamed down her face. Her mum stroked her hair all the while. Hermione couldn’t tell who was comforting whom at this point, but all that mattered was that _her mum_ _was there_. A ball formed in her throat as her mum pulled away to have a look at her. Her eyes were shining as well, but there was a small smile on her lips. Hermione couldn’t help but smile back. People served their own stuffed rolls while as Hermione and her mum held each other.

“Hi mum,” Hermione said, her voice strained.

“Hermione. I knew I’d see you again.” Her mum hesitated a moment, knowing that her time and words were precious and limited. “It looks like you’ve been doing alright.”

“Madam Pomfrey’s taken me under her wing again,” Hermione confirmed, gesturing to the bag of medical supplies resting at her hip. “And you? You don’t look too. . .”

“Dirty? Abused?”

“Yes,” she admitted solomly. “We’ve had a few muggles, like Mr. Finnigan come in with serious injuries.”

“Some are worked harder than others.”

“What do you do?” Hermione pressed, hoping the answer would give her some comfort.

“At the moment I’m a laundress.”

For a moment Hermione was pleasantly surprised. From her experience laundering did make the back ache, but it would not be the end of her. Then she caught sight of her mother’s hands. They were dry and cracked, weathered and leathery no doubt from the scalding water and whatever soaps they were having her use.

“Oh, mum,” she groaned, taking her hands in hers and rubbing her mother’s cracked knuckles with her thumbs before digging into her bag for a healing balm. “Take this. Use it.”

Her mother quirked an eyebrow. “You know it won’t last long, don’t you?”

Hermione smiled, matching the familiar glint in her mum’s eyes. She fished out two other containers of the balm and shoved them into her mum’s hands.

"And dad?"

"He's been out in the fields, gathering herbs. He steals some of them to make ointments and such. He's been caught a couple times," her voice cracked. She covered her mouth with one of her dry hands. "I'll be honest, he looks a lot worse than I do, dear, but he's had nothing done that two or three days rest can't fix."

"Is he getting those two or three days?" 

Before Hermione could hear her mum's response, Mrs. Granger’s sad eyes turned frightened as she spotted something over Hermione’s shoulder.

“May I have this dance, madam?” said a deep voice from behind her soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who could it be???  
> Ron? (Too soon?) (Yup*. . .)   
> I'll let you stew on that for a bit. I'm excited for the next chapter though, so it shouldn't take too long.


	19. A Winter's Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1780, a winter's ball, and the Schuyler Sisters are the envy of all. . .  
> Wait, no! Like all tropes, it is the useful nerd who is now surrounded by suitors!   
> Madam Granger, are you ready to meet prince number two? Standing at reasonably but not overbearingly tall with warm brown eyes and a contagious smile, it's Viktor Krum~!  
> Then what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you are all doing well during this time.   
> I just finished my final assignments for the semester, so now I have time to think. It's only been a month and 10 days since I last posted.   
> Anyways, here's 2500 words with which to escape your homes and the boredom of our current predicament (predinkydink) (IDK, just go with it).   
> As always, Enjoy! :)

“May I have this dance, madam?” said a deep voice from behind her.

Over her shoulder, Hermione saw a large light brown leather glove. It was opened invitingly and nonthreateningly. She turned away from her mum and met the eyes of the Drumstrang man she’d seen before. They were deep and warm and smiling at her. He was wearing a bold red suit with a brown elk-fur throw over his shoulder. Hermione was stunned for a moment looking at his sturdy features and charming crooked smile. Her mother gave her a small nudge, interrupting her as she studied this face.

“You should go, _Hermione_ ,” her mum said in a slightly forced tone. When Hermione looked back her mum was smiling stiffly and looking back and forth between Hermione and the mysterious man. She gave a “go get him” nod of her head before turning away and handing an older man a glass of mulled wine. Hermione forgot for a moment all that had happened over the past months and laughed as if they had been exchanging their secret looks all this time.

Hermione turned back to the man and curtseyed politely before taking his hand.

A medium paced waltz started playing as they made their way into the throng of dancing Hogsmeadians. Nervous as she was, Hermione’s heart tightened as she recognized some muggles and wizards dancing together, laughing and having fun. She wasn’t even half an hour in and she wished that this night would never end.

Hermione and the man bowed and curtseyed to each other as they joined in the song.

“My name is Viktor Krum, Madam Hermione,” Viktor Krum said as they brought their right hands up and held them slightly apart as they walked in a circle to the music.

“Hermione Granger,” she responded. They switched directions, holding up their left hands and spinning the other way around a couple turns before he spun her in, clasping her right hand and holding it gently at his shoulder’s height, pulling her close with his left. She rested her left hand on his shoulder and fumbled with her footsteps for a couple turns. It had been quite a while since she’d attended a dance where they waltzed. She was trying to remember Professor McGonagall’s instructions and tips. She could practically feel her judgemental gaze on her. It made her think of Ron’s dance with the professor in their fourth year of school when the classes used to put on shows on Yule’s Eve. She smiled to herself as she remembered his petrified face. 

“So, Madam Hermione Granger,” he started. Hermione loved the way he rolled the rs in her name. If she hadn’t been taken by his eyes already. . . “What do you do as an occupation?”

“I’m a healer,” Hermione responded, taking her arm off of his shoulder and lifting her bag slightly. The palm of her hand became cold as soon as it left his shoulder. She quickly, but gently, placed it back, trying to seem light and effortless to contrast the beginning of the dance. Now her feet had become used to the pattern they followed. “Yourself?”

“Diplomat’s son at the moment,” he said, somewhat ashamed.

“You don’t seem too happy about that.” Hermione noted.

Viktor grimaced slightly, off above her head for a moment before responding. “My job right now is to observe my _bashta_ as he makes sure that your people are properly suppressed. I have always been curious about Hogsmeade, so I wanted to learn more about its culture, but not like this.”

Hermione wanted to turn the conversation to one more positive. She had seen how his eyes had lit up when she’d accepted his hand, when he’d drawn her close. She wanted them to light up again. “Well, I practically grew up in the library, and I _was_ raised in Hogsmeade, so maybe I can answer some questions?”

_Merlin’s beard his eyes are beautiful_ , Hermione thought as he looked down and smiled wide.

“Really?”

“Fire away,” she smiled.

“Dobre,” he grinned back, twirling her out from him and pulling her back in. “I have heard that muggles and wizards are regarded as equals here. Why is that?” he asked openly and without prejudice.

“There are some things that wizards will never accomplish with their magic. Many of the muggles I know are far more innovative and creative than most wizards. Why, it was in Hogsmeade that the laundry churn was invented.”

“Ma bashta is not so thankful for that one,” Viktor laughed, “Ever since that washing machine came to Drumstrang, no man has gotten away with shoving his laundry into the arms of his wife. He and the other officials nearly banned it completely. Of course, I mind not so much, I can churn while I drink a beer and wash the day away.”

Hermione snorted and chuckled, looking up embarrassedly into his amused eyes.

“So you’re married then?” Hermione asked as lightly as she could, but still very much hoping not to be disappointed by his answer.

Before she could get her answer, the song changed. Hermione and Viktor bowed to each other. This next song was faster, more upbeat. Hermione felt that with this song, she could be swept away in to oblivion.

The question hung in the air as they took a few chords to adjust to the new steps. It was one that Hermione enjoyed well despite never having danced it with anyone other than her father before. She had always loved the way the women looked when they were lifted into the air.

Viktor adjusted his hands so that they were on her waist, readying himself for the lift. “I’m not married,” he confirmed confidently, tossing her in the air. Hermione felt butterflies in her stomach as he raised her up. He held her firmly but not uncomfortably as he turned to the left before putting her down again.

“What a coincidence,” Hermione said breathlessly with a flick of an eyebrow. “Me neither.” Hours later she would regret that statement. It was _very_ forward of her. She’d toss and turn on it for months.

“So, what are the courting rituals here in Hogsmeade? That information is not so. . .” he paused to find the word, “accessible in my libraries. Then again, only marriages to Slytherin nobles have been allowed for centuries.”

“Well, one would ask a lady to meet for a light meal, such as breakfast, lunch, or afternoon tea should you have the time. Then, if the pairing works out, a meal with the parents would be in order. Should they approve, the couple can continue to see each other until they either decide to become engaged and marry, or decide to go in separate directions.” Hermione informed him, simultaneously nervous and excited about where this conversation was going. “What are the rituals in Drumstrang?”

“Well, we either let our parents or the fates decide. Many pairings are decided by fortune tellers who look at our stars and decide what fates align.”

“Have you gotten your fortune told?” Hermione dipped her metaphorical toes deeper into the inky waters that was Drumstrang and Viktor Krum.

Viktor laughed. “It is not something we share with strangers, charming as you may be.”

Hermione nodded, pulling away as another song ended. Viktor gently took Hermione’s hand in his and bowed. Hermione mirrored with a curtsey as they walked in step in a circle, turning outwards and bowing when the music dipped and lilted. Taken off rhythm by his rejection of the first question, Hermione decided to take a shot at gathering some information while she could.

“So, Viktor, what have you gotten up to since you came to Hogsmeade? I can’t imagine the site seeing is great at this time of year. Even the giant squid has given up trying to break the frozen lake.”

“Prince Draco has been taking me around, showing me the ins and outs of the city.”

“Where has he taken you so far?”

“The castle mainly, though we’ve also been down Main Street. Tomorrow he will take me hunting in the Forbidden Forest.”

_Main Street, so he’s probably been to Mr. Cooper’s Coopery,_ she thought. She decided not to press that issue, however. “I’ve heard that falconry and Pheonixry are popular hunting methods in Drumstrang. Have you ever participated?”

“Yes, it is . . . how you say? . . . the only way the generals socialize without murdering each other. I’ve been quite a few times since I was a boy,” Viktor said with a grin.

Hermione laughed at that. The constant competition of ranks she’d read about was one of the reasons she had been proud of living in a democratic city state. “Really? With phoenixes?”

“Yes. They are spectacular flyers. They also make great beacons when they are at the end of their life cycle.”

“Really? They must be so beautiful to see when they’re flying. . .” Hermione sighed dreamily.

“If you want I can introduce you to mine,” Viktor suggested.

“You brought one here?”

“Of course. Hogsmeade is not their natural habitat, so I would not be able to hunt with one if I had not.”

Viktor gripped her hand tighter and pulled her into him, lifting her up in time with the rest of the dancers. Hermione had been so lost in her conversation that she had forgotten that this too was a dance with lifts.

When he returned her to the ground, he leaned in and whispered, “So, what time do you get off work?”

Hermione gasped at the ticklish feeling of his breath on her neck, and her surprise at the rather forward question, but answered nonetheless. “Six in the afternoon Sunday through Monday, at five on Saturdays.”

“Can I see you Tuesday at six, then? I can go and meet you at the infirmary, if you wish. We can meet my phoenix, then have dinner?”

Hermione blushed. She had never been asked on a date like this before. And she’d be going to the palace for the first time since the battle . . . wait no, since the embarrassing attempt at making a contract with the prince. Hermione wasn’t eager to go back to the palace, but how could she say _no_ that those warm eyes and that perfectly crooked smile?

“Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

“Chudesen!” He exclaimed happily as he once again lifted her in the air. Hermione eyes were wide in surprise when she was thrown up. She noticed a face in the shadows, cold blue eyes and a scowl framed by platinum blond hair. Hermione felt a shock in her chest much like the one she’d felt when she’d heard of her grandfather’s passing. She felt heavier with dread, as if the weight of the world had come crashing down on her.

Hermione was distracted during the rest of the dance, though she tried to hide it. It was difficult to hide the off-timing steps, however, since she was not being held close to her dance partner.

Viktor picked up on it too, at the end of the dance, he placed a hand on her shoulder and looked at her worriedly. “Are you alright? Do you need a drink?”

Hermione nodded mutely, wanting to be alone. She knew that as soon as he left that another would take his place. Still, she watched Viktor’s back as he weaved his way through the throng of dancers and out of her sight.

“I must admit,” the coolly charming voice of the prince sounded behind her. “He is quite the dancer.” She felt his breath on the top of her head. Draco turned her around before taking hold of her hand and bowing. Hermione returned the bow with a curtsey when he raised an eyebrow. The prince took her in her arms and started to twirl with the waltz. He set the dizzying fast pace the music demanded and pulled her along with him.

“Yes, he’s a very good partner,” Hermione grit her teeth, putting an emphasis on the word ‘partner’ as she tried to ground herself and take some control of her movements.

“I still think we make a better pair, don’t you agree?”

Hermione let her eyes speak for her. The prince laughed in return, sending Hermione spinning out before reeling her back in and using it as an excuse to pull her closer to him. Hermione was sure that he could feel her heart beating inside her chest. Hermione looked up at him. At first, all she saw was his neck and Adam’s apple, shadowed by his chin and blond hair which was cleanly waxed back save for a few strands freed by the wind which framed his face elegantly. Hermione wondered how a person so unhinged could look so put together. _Royals_ , she thought bitterly.

“Why are you doing this, Malfoy?” Hermione asked.

Draco looked down and flashed her a toothy grin. His eyes bore into her possessively when he spoke. “Why, I only want to enjoy your company, Granger. I am your prince, after all. Do I really need a reason?” Hermione opened her mouth to voice her doubt, but he continued, sending a volley of slightly-off compliments towards her. “By the way,” he continued in that rough voice, “you look very beautiful tonight. That colour is most alluring. You smell divine, as well. What is that, Granger? Lavender? Rose?”

“You must be nose-blind,” Hermione retorted, “its primrose.”

“Quite fitting, isn’t it, my prim and proper rose?” he chuckled. 

Hermione looked down and squared her jaw. “I’m sure you’ll find I’m closer to a lily of the valley.”

“You? With your honest face? Though I guess you do have access to all of the medicine cabinets.” He took a sharp breath in and tutted. “Would you poison me, though? For all you know I’m the best option you have. Old Riddle wouldn’t be showing nearly as much mercy to mudbloods such as yourself. My father certainly wouldn’t either, and _don’t_ get me started on Lady Umbridge. She’s nearly as bad as Aunt Bellatrix. Good thing your friend disposed of _her_ while she had the chance.”

Hermione didn’t know how to respond to that. She wasn’t sure where the threat was, exactly, or how many were veiled within it. For better or for worse, an infamously clumsy young man came careening towards them.

“Madam Granger! Madam Granger!” he called as dancers parted to let him through. As he came closer, Hermione noticed that he had blood on his sleeves.

“What seems to be the problem, Collin?” she asked, tearing herself away from Draco and jogging in the direction Collin had come from.

“Quick, there was a fight. Some big Slytherin man was feeling up Angelina Johnson. George came to defend her, but the bastard bludgeoned him with a glass stein. His face is awful torn!” he huffed out as they made their way back.

As Hermione left this pavilion to go to the next one down the street, she noticed Viktor Krum turn away from the wine cauldron. Her mum had just handed him two glasses of hot mulled wine. Their eyes followed her with a worried and confused look. 


	20. Double Double Toile and Trouble, Beware the Wrath of Crabbe and Goyle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medical student, nor do I watch medical dramas.   
> Warning for the use of mudblood as a slur and for violence. 
> 
> I know you've all waited a while. Enjoy!

Hermione and Collin raced to the pavilion down the street. This one was lit and decorated similarly to the one from which she’d come, but instead of there being a ring around people dancing to festive music, there was a ring of worried-looking people staring at the near empty circle. Men, women and children stared with gaping mouths or clutching one another as grunts and shouts came out from the center of the pavilion.

“Madam Granger!” someone called out. A path was cleared for her and Collin to where George, Angelina, Crabbe, Goyle, and a taller young man with uneven teeth and complexion flushed red with drink and something else. Hermione could see how Collin had been right. Sure the tension was still high, but the fight was clearly over.

George was on his hands and knees, legs shaking as he tried to get up. His nose was all bloody and he had an red eye that was in the process of swelling up. Hermione’s chest tightened at the sight.

Just as George got one foot under him, Goyle raised a large leg and kicked him back to the ground, stomping on his ankle for emphasis.

“You vermin never know when to back down, do you?” the taller man sneered. “You know, his royal highness was wrong. The Weasleys aren’t a bunch of weasels, oh no. They’re more like possums, laying low, playing dead or close to it. But I can hear beyond your cracked voices and can see the hatred in your eyes. No more laying low, no more playing possum, weaselby. We all know that the best way to ensure vermin like you is dead is to do it yourself.” He finished menacingly before raising his wand and reciting a curse that brought Hermione right back to the great hall. For what felt like an instant and a century, Hermione stood in ice cold terror across the room as a snake ate its way through Ron’s body on the stage. She heard his screams of agony and watched as he turned redder than his hair as he bled from inside out before the snake finally emerged from his gut.

She was brought back to the ruined ball as the head of a snake protruded from the man’s wand. Crabbe and Goyle dragged George up and closer to the current leader of the trio.

“No!” came Angelina’s terrified scream. She tried to run for George but was held back by her friends. “George!” she wailed, kicking and clawing at Lee Jordon, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell who kept her from running to her boyfriend. They did their best to turn her away from the crowd, though they all looked furious. Had their hands not been on Angelina, Hermione was sure that they’d be on their wands, protecting their friend and former beater. Many people winced and turned away while others looked on in horror. In the past it was deemed polite to leave one’s wands at home for occasions such as balls, which, tonight, had left them near helpless.

Hermione winced and tried to think quickly of spells that she could use to diffuse the situation or to distract the man summoning the snake. It was a foot long before Hermione remembered that day in Dueling club when they’d had guest instructor Gilderoy Lockhart at the castle. He’d caused a snake much like the one in front of her to shoot straight into the air. Surely it wasn’t menacing enough to set off the damn magic blocker. It had been cast by a false hero and had done no harm to the snake after all. Surely it wouldn’t do enough harm to these oafs to cause her magic blocker to activate.

Hermione wrenched her eyes away from the screaming Angelina and thrashing George and raised her wand. “Alarte ascendare!” she cried, pointing her wand at the tall man from whose wand the snake dangled. Suddenly, his wicked eyes and sneering mouth both widened as her spell hit him. The man and his cursed snake flew up into the air and onto a snow-covered roof. No sooner had he hit the roof that the snow which had pillowed his fall began to slide off with him and the half-formed snake with it.

Crabbe and Goyle immediately dropped George and started stomping towards Hermione. Hermione swallowed and once again pointed her wand with resolve. She cast the dancing feet jinx as they pounced. She hit Crabbe, causing him to perform a quick jig. His body and arms flailed around while his feet skipped in all directions.

She had no time to fire another inconvenient curse at Goyle before he tackled her. She hit the cold ground, her elbows and bum taking most of the impact. Her medical bag landed between herself and Groyle’s big frame, pressing the vials and bandage rolls painfully into her torso. Finally, her head hit the icy brick with a hard smack. She saw stars for in front of her eyes as pain blossomed in the back of her head and an odd taste spread over her tongue. 

She laid unfocused for a moment. She was only dizzy and an aching head. Above her, a man with a cropped widow’s peak, a deep frown, and spittle-spewing mouth was yelling above her, but she couldn’t hear a thing. Then, the shock wore off, sound returned, and Goyle’s ugly words came at her at full speed as he bashed her into the ground over and over again.

“Fucking mudblood! How dare you jinx your masters! I’ll kill you and everyone in this square, you dirty, stupid mudblood!”

Then, Goyle grabbed the front of her dress, ripping the embroidered neckline and digging his nails into her chest. He shook her violently as he lifted her up. Hermione kicked weakly and clutched at his hands and wrists, trying to scratch them off of her, her wand forgotten on the ground somewhere below her.

“Put her down!” An accented voice shouted. “Put her on her feet now!”

Hermione’s eyes turned to look behind Goyle. Viktor Krum was pushing his way through the terrorized crowd. He looked panicked and furious. Goyle let out a growl and put her down roughly. Hermione’s ankles stung upon impact.

As soon as the oaf’s hands released her, Hermione collapsed. She saw Viktor lunge over to catch her, bringing his hands under her shoulders to prevent further head injuries. He laid her down gently on the street, assessing her injuries before shooting up with a roar and punching Goyle in the face. It hit his cheek with a sickening crunch. The henchman brute stumbled backwards, but Viktor was on him again before he could recover his footing. Her saviour stomped forward and leapt, punching Goyle in the eye and knocking him to the ground. He stood above him and shook his hand before returning his attention to Hermione.

Seconds later, Collin came running back with Mr. Bonham. He froze for a moment, taking in the violence of the scene, George and Hermione laying on the ground, bloody and battered, Goyle standing up with some effort, his eye red and swelling, his nose crooked, bleeding and pushed to the right. Crabbe had gotten hold of a table at this point and was holding on tightly as his feet skipped back and forth, trying to drag him away.

“I’ll need some help getting these two to the infirmary. Collin, can you please go inform Mister Zabini that I will be requiring access to healing potions?” he requested, half in a daze.

Several men and women nodded. Angelina Johnson and a middle-aged wizard each took one of George’s arms to support him. Someone helped Viktor hoist Hermione on her back.

Lee Jordan followed close behind Angelina and George, a journal and quill floating by his side, writing furiously. Hermione’s lips curled into a small smile. Since his upper years at Hogwarts it had been said that he’d be the next great historian. No one had any doubts that he’d at least be the most entertaining, if his quidditch, jousting, and dueling commentating performances had given any indication.

This dance pavilion had been farther from the infirmary than the one Hermione had been at. It took the procession a good ten minutes to transport their injured comrades. When they arrived, the door was locked. There was little doubt that Collin had yet to reach Blaise Zabini. First, it was at least a five minute’s run to the bottom of the hill, then there was the Slytherin palace security to deal with. Collin was by no doubt an unassuming young man, but that didn’t mean that the guards would just let him in without question or without taking the opportunity to rough up a Hogsmeadian wizard.

Though her hands, knees, toes and face were cold, the back of Hermione’s head felt warm. Hermione remembered that scalp wounds bled a lot, which brought some relief despite the dull pounding that she’d started to feel and hear. Hermione buried her face in Viktor’s shoulder before letting out a groan. The man shifted beneath her, turning his head to look at her through his peripheral vision.

“Are you alright, Madam Granger?” Viktor asked softly.

Hermione nodded against him, though she couldn’t tell the real extent of the damage.

Mr. Bonham had started to examine George’s injuries. He used _lumos_ to look at the size of his pupils and to see the extent of the bruises. Like Goyle, George had a broken nose. Mr. Bonham gave him a count of three before he righted it. A fresh gush of blood fell to the ground before he continued, tapping George’s nose with his wand and saying, “Episkey” to heal it completely. Next, he felt George’s ribs, frowning when the young man groaned. “One or two of these are cracked,” he confirmed. “I’m going to need something a bit stronger to heal these. For now, keep upright and try to regulate your breathing.”

“Mr. Bonham,” Angelina spoke up, “Goyle stomped on his left ankle, could you check if that too is broken?”

“Of course,” he crouched down and gently felt around the joint and his foot. “It’s started to swell. I do believe it’s at least fractured. Please keep him off of it. Let’s keep his boot on until we can get the swelling down.”

Angelina made a worried noise before smoothing George’s hair and kissing him on the forehead, whispering against his temple that he would be alright.

Next Mr. Bonham turned to Hermione. “Let’s see the back of that head.” He cast Lumos again and brushed her hair gently to the left and to the right. Then he brought the light to Hermione’s face and asked her to follow it.

Hermione struggled. Her eyes went in and out of focus, but soon enough she’d been able to do what her colleague had asked. Still, her headache intensified with her headache. With a grimace, she buried her face in Viktor’s furs once more.

“I’m afraid, Hermione, that we might need to shave that head of yours, or at least cut it short so that we can examine and treat the wound at the back. We’ll know what to do when we’re inside and we can record the details of what happened.” Mr. Bonham tried to sound professional, but Hermione could hear the worry in his voice. He put his wand away and looked around. Everyone huddled around by the Infirmary entrance, shivering as they waited for Madam Pomfrey and Blaise Zabini to come and let them in.


End file.
